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milkypompon · 4 months

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Chapter 3 | Pick Up

pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader, implied Jake Lockley x Reader)

summary: Even after a year living with Steven and Jake in the headspace, Marc struggles to quiet the buzzing chatter. He finds himself frequenting Coffee for Two, a place where brewing roasts fill the air and the cookies are as sweet as the barista.

this chapter: you finally receive a phone call...?

content: Mentions of Marc's past, plotty plot plot

wc: 2k+

a/n: I'm exploring the dynamic between the moon boys! Specifically on Steven and Jake's understanding of the system.

Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Coffee Doodles Masterlist

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–

Take it out of that pile of shit, Stevie.

“I won’t.”

Ay, do it before I sit your ass to the back.

Steven stares into the rubbish, listening to Jake’s half-hearted threats.

It didn’t matter if he tossed it into a trash compactor and cast it into the open sea, they both memorized the number on the cup.

How else could they have survived as Khonshu’s avatar?

The god spouted astronomical coordinate systems during missions, instead of cardinal directions. It was disrespectful of his domain to merely water down the night sky into four words or their combinations, according to the squawking bird.

Regardless, no point of direction from his alter or the moon god could shift his moral compass.

“I dare you, mate.”

Jake grumbles under his breath.

Neither of them liked to tug on the string that forced control over the body. They wouldn’t be any better than Khonshu rattling his wrapped talons over their lifeforce — a puppet at the hands of its master.

We’re allowed to live our own lives. Isn’t that what you wanted?

“This isn’t just about me anymore. Or just you for that matter.”

Once, Steven wanted nothing more than to free himself of the sleep-deprived nights and taste a drip of normalcy. He thought the only way to do that was to overcome whatever was going on in his head.

Egypt.

Khonshu.

The happenings in the Duat with Marc and Jake.

But now, his life, their life was more than that.

Steven was more than elated to discover support from a place he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Finding a way for each of them to front was a balancing act through understanding. It isn’t created by compartmentalizing the week into color-coded days or agreeing to a first come first serve basis. Their system was far from perfect, but it was their’s.

Restraint was the seed of their problems, among other things, but the anxiousness of being confined (like they were in the sarcophagus) was something they couldn’t stomach.

An attempt to claw himself out would forego the delicate trust built on an unsteady foundation.

No more lies.

No more secrets.

And definitely, no more double duties.

“Besides, you said it yourself. We should live our own life. If either of us rings up the barista, despite all her loveliness, you’d be pretending to be Marc.”

Jake knew what was coming next. Don’t tell that story again–

Steven turns up his nose toward the reflection on the toaster. “Need I remind you, the last time you filled in my shoes, I ended up at a steakhouse for a date?”

You’re never gonna let me live that down, eh? At least it got you outta the stuffy museum for the night.

“Hmph, I’m never take dating advice from you, no matter how desperate I get.”

Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.

How about you take those pretty little fingers and pick up that damn cup! And use your other set of five to press the numbers into your phone.

Jake tended to spear-head ways to bring the out of their shell, it stemmed from years of hiding away. His actions came from good intentions, though the sentiments among the three weren’t always shared.

“Not gonna be late for my first day, you twat.”

Steven tugs the handles of the trash bag into a neat bow, double-knotting it to emphasize the point.

He chews the inside of his cheek. It’s been a day, but he still couldn’t feel Marc’s presence after retreating into the recesses of their mind. He’d be lying to himself if he said that things were a little easier this time around.

Despite going through hell and back (almost quite literally), maybe there would be a shared bonding experience that would lead them on the right track. But it always seemed like something veered them a little bit off-center. This time it wasn't a life-threatening mission...

Steven shrugs on his jacket and tinkers with the doorknob.

–

Since the last time Steven worked at the gift shop, he swears the British Museum didn’t sell the stone statues of the Ennead. (He wonders what else popped up during his absence). At least nine deities are behind the display case, instead of the misprinted eight on the poster.

How the toymakers laid their hands on strangely accurate models of the ushabtis is beyond him. It isn’t his problem anymore, the days of working inventory are over.

Whoever is responsible for the new figurines must be the same person who sorted out his new job. After the loo and jackal incident, he swore up and down that he blew the opportunity to become a tour guide.

He shoulders his bag and heads to the information desk, where a familiar blond sifts through papers.

Steven clears his throat. “Morning, Donna!”

“Stevie.” She peers up, a strained smile splitting her face, and hands him his nametag.

It doesn’t matter if she calls him the wrong name, nothing could take away the bubbling joy in his heart. He holds it in his two hands as if cradling a duckling.

Steven marvels at it briefly and smiles, noticing the engraved designs. He runs his thumb over it.

A scarab and a moon.

Layla must’ve put a good word in for him before she left for Egypt.

He clips it onto his breast pocket.

Steven Grant Tour Guide

Donna pipes up, “After you’re done ogling, group A is waiting up front. Speak up a bit for that bunch. Mostly grandparents looking for a day out.”

Steven weaves between visitors meandering through the halls before standing in front of about ten people. A few wandering eyes behind a pair of thick glasses are already looking past him and at the exhibit. Others are fidgeting with their canes.

“Hiya, there everyone! I’m Steven with V and’ll be your tour guide for the day.” He claps his hands with a bright smile.

Steven walks backward to face the group while explaining each artifact with animated hand gestures and fluctuating voice impressions. There are tidbits of information he sprinkles in pulled from personal encounters with the gods. But, he skirts around how the unfriendly croc wanted to consume the souls of the living.

The tour ends in a little under an hour, leaving enough wiggle room for a q and a portion. He rounds them up in front of a sectioned-off hall where they are free to discuss the pieces without the usual prattling of sugar-infested children.

“Anything you’d like to know more about off the top of your noggin?”

A shaky hand raises, a paper bracelet decorating the granny’s wrist.

People rarely asked questions, so Steven beams at the prospect of going off into another tangent with someone as captivated as he is in Egyptology.

“Yes, please! Go ahead.”

She smiles curiously and points to the unopened area of the museum. “What’s in there?”

“Ah, your guess is as good as mine. It’s my first day here so the curators haven’t filled me in on what’s going.”

“Could we take a peek?”

The hall isn’t open to the public for various reasons – there are fragile steles, brittle canopic jars, and parchment that resemble closer to dust than paper. Still, it tickled his fancy to be one of the first few people to check out the unearthed pieces.

He scratches the back of his neck. “The guided tour has ended, but feel free to stick around with me and the missus here if you’d like to look in.”

The group is seemingly uninterested, except for her. They disperse with an appreciative nod and head toward the exit.

“Well, aren’t you a sponge for knowledge!” Steven unclips the rope from the pole and ushers her inside. “Watch your step, might be bits and pieces of packing stuffs.”

Wooden crates line the walls along the respective categories of tools, ceremonial weapons, and non-utilitarian objects. The last are Steven’s particular favorite.

His eyes land on a slab of stone with carefully carved hieroglyphs. “This poem is dedicated to Hathor, the Goddess of Love. How lovely!”

It’s set inside a glass case, Marc stares back at him on the reflection with a slight frown, but it isn’t directed toward him.

Her hand sidles up to the barrier, Steven glances at the strip of paper around her wrist… it’s a hospital bracelet.

“Can the other two read this like you can?”

Steven’s mouth gapes open and before he can reply she recites the hieroglyphs to his (and Marc’s) surprise.

One plus one Equals two One for me And one for you

Frantic footsteps near them, J.B. sets the rope back in place and tuts. “Oy! That’s where you went off to. I couldn’t find you on the cams. Off you go, you two.”

Steven tucks his chin down, voice going into a low whisper. “Think the missus here got lost.”

“What’re you going on about–” J.B.’s gaze flits over to her.

He rolls his wrist to emphasize his point.

“Gotcha, I’ll call security. Can’t believe she’s back.”

“Back?” He whispers to himself, just barely catching J.B.’s last sentence.

Steven adds, “Heya, no need for a big fiasco. She’s a nice one.”

–

The chime of the entrance bell hasn’t rung all morning at Coffee for Two.

You gnaw at the end of your pencil in deep contemplation. Your decision darts between opening the shop to kill the boredom or listening to Nan about joining her for a break after she was given strict doctor’s orders for bed rest. Years of baking sweets and brewing coffee weren’t easy on her knees or head for that matter.

Either way, you were supposed to be on vacation, yet here you were working on a new bread recipe.

You worked around the clock before she practically forced you to hit the pause button. Even with the help of your part-timer, she couldn’t hold a candle to Nan’s experience with folding dough, piping frosting, and roasting beans.

Though sitting behind the counter were moments few and far between, you missed the daily hustle and bustle of serving the regulars who were often in pairs.

The gray hairs of a Mister and Missus would peek from the velvet couch as they dipped a biscotti into a dark roast. Or a budding romance between a young couple would lead to sharing an affogato by the wooden stools. You’d smile to yourself and throw in extra cookies for them, claiming that you miscalculated the measurements and made more than usual.

You aren’t a stranger to the coffee shop meet-cute. It happens often enough to warrant the thought of writing a collection of romance novels.

Between work… and work, there wasn’t much time to do anything else.

The tangents meet when Marc showed up.

At the right moment and time.

You flinch when your phone plays a jingle, fumbling to grab it and pressing the green button.

“Hello?”

–

When you prayed to any god listening about receiving a call out of sheer boredom, you didn’t expect a call from the Royal London Hospital. You gripped your phone waiting for the nurse’s message.

“This is the number we had on file in case of emergencies.”

“Yeah, yes. That’s me, I’m her granddaughter.”

“We’d like to inform you that she’s left the premises… again”

“Left the– Bloody hell! You could’ve started with that! You would think after the first time, you’d keep a closer eye on her, eh?” You accidentally bite your tongue after hurtling word after word at the nurse.

“We’re not responsible for the patient who’s left the area. But, we–”

“Tried?” You make your way out of the coffee shop, nudging the door close with your hip. “Yeah, like the first two times? Third time’s a fucking charm. You better hope she’s at the same place as last time.”

A call from another line intercepts your current one.

“Uh, hello, Miss!” A light voice chirps from the other side. “We’ve got a bit of a situation at the British Museum.”

You groan inwardly, she was there again. No wonder why the incoming number was familiar. (Not that you were expecting an unknown one from a particular curly-haired regular...)

“Did you find Nan?”

“If you mean the nice granny with the dangly bracelet, then it’s safe to say, yes.”

“Did she– Is she okay?”

He chirps, “Oh yes, mhm! No need to worry, we’re sat down together.”

“Good, okay. Thank you, by the way, uh…”

“Oh bollocks, forgot to introduce myself. It’s Steven. Steven Grant.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

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couldawouldashoulda50 · 9 months

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A heart full of regret - William Nylander

A/N - This fic still falls under William Nylander and the fem reader who is a global super-star.

Just a side note (for anyone that might be wondering), I have been honestly struggling to find my way back to The Distance and the Time between Us . Between my work and personal commitments, it’s been super challenging to get back in that headspace. Admittedly, my perception changed a little of William since the Sweden trip so I have been reworking a few things in my head about him too.

I tried to tie this side piece into the main Distance and Time series as well so hopefully I can get back to outlining some of the earlier years between William and the reader and have it all flow together. I tried to make sure I’m well on my way with getting Part 2 completed of this piece before I posted Part One. I apologize if I seem all over the place sometimes.

Thank you to everyone for giving this a shot 🙂

Word count 8k+

Warnings: 18+ content, general smut (p in v, oral m receiving, c*ck massage), swearing, angst, reflections of the end of a relationship, casual sex

Late November, 2023

A familiar chime echoes once again through the condo, signalling a step closer to yet another tryst for William Nylander. This time, it’s Trina; a lively and pretty young woman in her early twenties whom he crossed paths with recently while out for his daily walk with Pablo and Banksy.

Prior to the trip to Sweden for the NHL Global Series, William wouldn’t go too many days without a casual encounter with an attractive female, which would lead to introductions and further chats, and often enough, to the bedroom of whomever's place was closest. Ever since Williiam moved to this upscale part of the city, he noticed there was no shortage of beautiful and stylish women that lived within a short distance of his doorstep. Now having returned from his beloved Stockholm, where he shone even brighter than the spotlights themselves, there had been a further surge of interested parties coming out of the woodwork.

William had been in committed relationships for long periods of time prior to this season, but throughout the other periods of time when he was single, he felt there was no harm in having small feasts of women here and there to satisfy his sexual appetite.

William had consistently been very low-key about divulging (m)any details about his personal life, whether it be in interviews or across all the social media apps. He was no stranger to his name being thrown around in the news by reporters hungry to spawn a certain narrative about his game performance or even his personality; many times, he was not cast in a favorable light but somehow his laid back personality carried him through. Regardless of what kind of attention he received, William never came across like any of it went to his head, to any great degree anyway.

However, after his well-documented week in Sweden, and the internet exploding after his appearance on the “Bianca” show where he provided some very personal details of his own sex life, William was reaping the benefits of his re-energized superstardom. As a result, he was getting more notoriety with being a handsome, talented, virile, and notably single, professional hockey player.

All of the resurgence of popularity does not come without a flipside - a downside to which the descent is much longer lasting that the ascent to stardom. William knew this and he was fortunate that he had people in his life that would remind him to be careful of the traps and pitfalls tied to such celebrity. The trouble is there was no one quite like that here in Toronto that he could just call and hang out with, that he could just “be” with; the people that cared for him most, and that he cared for, were all dispersed between the US and Sweden. And as much as he loved his two beloved dogs, they weren’t great for a two-way conversation.

William’s phone chimes again.

Be there in 5 😘

William acknowledges the text and heads into the washroom to do his traditional freshening up routine.

“She's nice, boys - you met her on our walk”, William said to Pablo and Banksy as he returned to the living room; the dogs cock their heads to the side in response. William gives them both a hearty and affectionate scratch behind their ears, and chuckles as their rumps move in unison showing their adoration for their dog dad.

William flopped down on the couch and continued to absent-mindedly scratch the dog's backs and scrolled through some more messages on his phone.

After glancing at numerous DM's received as of late, something shifted in William’s mind; an empty feeling that he only just recognized at that moment. He realized, rather suddenly, that he really wasn’t into Trina at all and the dread of her impending arrival started to build within him. William had only invited her over for one purpose. She was merely coming to scratch an itch, an itch that would still linger long after she’s long gone from his bed. He didn’t have the heart to cancel on her with her just being literal seconds from his door, but he made up his mind right there that this would not be a long visit.

Say you’ve got a migraine he thought to himself.

William’s phone rang, a picture of his mom appeared on the screen.

“Hey, Mom…how’s it going?” William smiled.

They exchange some light-hearted small talk for a few moments when William hears a soft knock at the door. He takes his mom off speaker-phone and starts walking toward the door. He thinks he should probably just tell his Mom he has company and end the call but he’s come to realize that he would much rather talk to her than the girl on the other side of the door. Trina will just have to come in and wait.

“Mom, two seconds - just letting someone in”.

“I can let you go - there’s just something I need to discuss with you about Christmas so we’ll need some more time to talk. I’ll talk to you later William, ok?”

“No - Mom, please…if it’s about you guys coming for Christmas, I’d like to get that sorted out, ok? Just gimme a sec.”

He opens the door for Trina and mustering a smile, he invites her in. She glides past him and gives him her best “come fuck me” eyes, ghosting her fingers along his covered abdomen. William catches the scent of her perfume; between that and the deep blue bodycon dress she’s wearing under a sleek, belted wool coat (the dress he feels is a little over the top given he didn’t plan to leave the apartment), he momentarily forgets his migraine plan as he stares at the contour of her cleavage and her ass as she enters the living room.

She approaches the couch where the two dogs are waiting anxiously, but politely, for some affection. Trina looks at the dogs and tries to give a command for them to get down off of the furniture; looking back at William she said “sorry, I just don’t want the dogs slobbering all over me”.

There’s a sinking feeling in William’s stomach; he really wants to get out of this now.

Migraine plan is back on. Say you’ve got a migraine right after a few sips of wine correcting his first thought to himself.

“Boys….off,” William commands. He feels like shit watching his cherished companions skulk off the couch.

He motions to the phone, “It’s my Mom, she’s just got a quick question but I won’t be long, just going to take in here” nodding toward his bedroom. “There’s a bottle of white wine in the fridge; help yourself. I'll be right out”.

William enters his room, closes the door and lets out a long sigh.

Switching to his native tongue, he resumes the call.

“Ok, Mom…what’s up?”

“You sure I’m not interrupting? You have a guest, William”.

“It’s ok, she’s good…it’s fine, Mom”.

“So Dad and I have been figuring out what might make sense for all of us to get together for Christmas. We’ve had an interesting offer if we come to Toronto, but we wanted to talk with you about it first.”

William senses that his mom seems tentative; her tone just seems off.

“...oh - okaaay?...”

Camilla hesitates and then begins. “Well, we recently received a phone call from Y/N”.

William’s stomach is no longer sinking. It’s plummeting. His heart begins to race hearing your name.

“She reached out to ask if she could borrow back that guitar she gave your sister a few years ago. There’s an exhibit that was running in London but has now moved on to Toronto showing the different guitars she’s collected over the years and the stories behind each one”.

William remains silent at the other end. His face is drained; any colour he had initially has been swapped out with a dull, achy feeling.

“She was very apologetic for calling but she explained that although it wasn’t part of the London exhibit, she would really love to have it included at the Toronto exhibit, given it’s in her hometown and she has a strong sentimental attachment to it”.

Camilla was only met with further silence from William. She knew this would be difficult for him, given the history you and he shared.

“She ended up coming to Stockholm to pick it up herself. We invited her to stay for a meal so we had a long visit, which was nice.”

William could barely think to form a sentence; a million thoughts ricocheted off of one another in his brain.

“So, anyway, she asked if we were coming to visit you in Toronto this year for Christmas. I said we weren’t sure. I told her that when we were there last year, it soaked up a lot of our time trying to get anywhere since we were split up between your place and the hotel.”

Although William didn’t speak, he agreed silently in his head that it was chaotic from time to time last year to line up the logistics with the various designated meeting places and transporting his family in the heavy downtown traffic.

“Are you still there darling?” Camilla asked.

“I’m here, Mom.” William quietly responded.

“Getting to the point, she said that if we wanted, and if you were comfortable with it, that we could use her house while she’s away visiting her family. She said she would be happy to arrange anything we needed so we can just relax and spend time together. Your Dad was impressed that she came up with the idea at all…then she just offered it up straight away.”

Turns out, when he tells Trina that he has a migraine, it may not be far from the truth.

“Sounds like her - always going above and beyond for everyone”, William said. His tone was indiscernible; it was hard for Camilla to tell whether her son was just emotionless or if he was really hurting.

“You don’t need to answer right away, but it really would be such a great option for us. She told us a bit about the layout; it would almost be like being back at one of those villas in Saint Tropez….only in winter. I suppose you already know that.”

William knew what his Mom was saying was true. He knew and loved your house, and not just for all the grandeur of the amenities; the indoor/outdoor pool, the games room and the theatre room to name a few. He loved how it felt whenever he was there with you. It didn’t matter if it was just the two of you, or if it was a get together with friends, you always made it so warm, comfortable and inviting for anyone that came to visit.

“Yeah, ok Mom, I’ll think about it and will call you back”. William ends the call and remains in his room, trying to regroup.

Ugh. Trina’s out there waiting

He walks out and sees Pablo and Banksy lying on the floor by the entrance door. He had forgotten he had banished them from the couch so apologetically, he told them to hop up on his bed. If they’re sad, they can at least be comfortable.

“Hey you,” Trina smiles warmly.

“Sorry about that - with the time difference and all, it’s hard to sometimes get a chance for my Mom and I to talk”, William fibbed.

William sits beside Trina on his couch and sees she has poured a glass of wine for her and him.

Take a drink, say you have a headache, get her out of here.

“Was it not a good call? You don’t look well…” Trina said, her perfectly shaped brows furrow.

“Nah, it was fine - I just feel a headache coming on I think”.

“I’m sorry…can I do something? I know this thing - like a massage for your neck that helps reduce pressure from your head.” Trina’s hopeful tone was apparent.

William thought for a moment and then reluctantly agreed. She positions him in the exact spot she needs and readjusts herself sitting on her knees behind him. She instructs William to lower his chin to his chest and he obliges.

William closed his eyes and let Trina’s hands try and work out the pressure that has built in his head since the phone call. You used to do the same; the strength and dexterity in your hands from years of masterfully playing guitar, piano and drums always succeeded in releasing pressure from one area or another. It usually led to a thoroughly enjoyable activity after the fact as well.

His memory calls William back to a night, many years ago, with you in his bed and you sheepishly asked if you could give him a cock massage, while he is blindfolded. You said you had seen a video (he got you to admit you were actually watching porn while travelling back to Toronto after a performance) of a woman giving the most insane massage to her boyfriend’s member and you desperately wanted to try it with William upon your return.

[December, 2016]

“Isn’t it just like a hand-job?” William chuckled, lying on his back, his muscular everything fully exposed.

“Maybe a little - but it was more sensual than her just pumping away on it until…” you made an exploding hand gesture with one of your hands.

William watched you, grinning ear to ear. He felt his cock twitch, not just at the thought of your hands working his member but from the purely awesome sight of your beauty. You were standing lighting candles by the bed in a short, black silk negligee that you had bought in Florence that summer. You had bought it for yourself - you loved how you felt in it and oftentimes when you were alone at home, you would pad around the house on a lazy day wearing only that…and it felt wonderful. Your long curls laid loose down your back; your sandy blonde mane layered with dark brown lowlights was tousled at the crown of your head from the passionate make-out session that had just occurred. This was one of those nights where every open mouthed kiss was more delicious than the last and neither you could bring yourselves to stop.

You grab your black sleeping mask and with a coy smile, you put the flexible band of the mask between your teeth so it’s dangling from your mouth, and you crawl slowly from the foot of the bed toward William. Your eyes are fixed on his stunning blues that appear to be darkening with pure hunger for you.

You straddle his midriff - fucking god, his hard abdominal muscles against your entrance has you clenching your walls, wishing he was inside you. Your pussy is primed and wet already for his cock but you’re able to push those urges aside. You carefully place the mask over his eyes and gently expand the band, fitting it around his head. Now fully blindfolded, you lace your fingers through his and bring his hands up to your tits as you rock back and forth.

Fuck, he feels good. You fight with that ongoing urge for his cock to drive into you fast and hard; first, you want to make him writhe and squirm with ecstasy with just your touch. With this, you push the thoughts of him fucking you into oblivion to the side and stay with what you planned initially.

Willing yourself to NOT put his cock in your mouth as you descend down his body, was a chore unto itself. ‘It's right there, Y/N - just a little taste…’, your thoughts taunt you as you shake your head, trying to stay focused.

Finally, you seat yourself in a comfortable position and you help Willam shift his bum down towards you a little further.

You generously apply some warming oil around his (shaved) pubic area and begin the process of smoothing the oil around, somewhat teasingly avoiding his growing erection.

Applying a little more, you strategically drip the oil around just above his balls. The liquid slowly trickles down from the base of his member and across the sensitive skin of his sac, his cock continuing to twitch from the sensation; you smile as you hear a small moan from William as he bites his bottom lip.

You begin smoothing your hands up the length of his dick and down the shaft towards his balls. You repeat various motions, concentrating on his body reactions to the touches and stroking that your hands are providing. You're pleased to hear William start to moan; his hips begin to move to the rhythm of your strokes. When a large, translucent bead of fluid appears from the tip of his penis, you let out a soft moan. It takes everything in you to not lean over and run your tongue through his arousal. Although you love sucking his cock, you abstain as it's not on the menu tonight, not just yet. Instead, you smear the precum around the tip using your thumb and forefinger, over and over again.

William’s head falls to the side as a long moan leaves his mouth, followed by a curse word or two. You experiment a little by grabbing the thick base of his cock, balls included, firmly in one hand, and with the other, you stroke his shaft of his member and his balls masterfully with your hands, using his seeping fluid for extra slickness.

As his breath quickens, William’s muscles in his abdomen flex and contract as you continue to alternate stroking the head of his cock and using his arousal to glide your hand up and down his shaft and over his balls. Soon, his hips instinctively rise and fall with every stroke, while louder grunts echo when you smooth your hands over the now purple head of his throbbing dick at a faster pace. Veins are protruding from his pelvis all the way to his shaft and you sense William is getting close, as he grits his teeth and grasps at the large towel that covers the comforter on his bed.

As breathy gasps escape from his mouth, you can see and feel the eruption bubbling up through his shaft as his balls flex and constrict. You hold his impressive cock firmly in place and continue to work the head of his cock with your fingers and hand until finally thick streams of cum shoot out of his tip. Instead of just finishing him off with a few more pumps of his cock, you follow your recollection of the video and keep using his seed to lubricate his shaft and tip to keep stroking his cock, looking to draw out a longer and more intense pleasure.

As you stroke and manipulate his member after his first orgasm, William becomes even more vocal…only managing short sentences through his strained voice, blurting out his gratification which was mixed with a whole lot of profanity. More and more, his thigh muscles are flexed leading to more contouring of his hips and accentuating that god damned “V” that literally makes you throb at the sight of it.

A long, strained growl marks the next explosion followed by a forceful “Fuuuuuuck mee” from William, almost chuckling as the cum spills out in thick ribbons. You smile at the sight of him panting through his naturally pouting lips; this experience with William was even better than what you had hoped for and as it turns out, it was just as fulfilling for you too.

As William laid there, sprawled out and spent, he slid the blindfold off his eyes, leaving it resting on his forehead. He gazes at you sitting in front of him not understanding how he could have ever gotten so lucky to even be able to kiss you, let alone have you give him two of the most earth shattering orgasms, within minutes of each other, with just your hands.

He was certain that he would lose his mind as he watched you slowly lean over his cock and lick the last remnants of cum from around the head.

William inhales sharply as you flatten your tongue against the rounded tip for a more substantial taste. And just because you could not control the urge anymore (he tasted and felt that good in your mouth), you slid the length of his softening cock all the way in your mouth until it touched the back of your throat. You withdraw him from your mouth and gently lay his cock in back on his midriff. Yep, he's definitely done for now.

“C’mere…that was just fucking amazing. Seriously….fucking amazing, Y/N” William said with a low, gravelly tone as gently pulled you on top of him.

You’re not sure where it came from but a brand new need for William washed over you. It was something beyond sex; you yearned for him to just bring you into his sculpted arms and have them fully envelop you. Gently, you slide your one hand under William’s head and you nestle your face into the crook of his neck, pressing your lips against his skin. Your legs flank William’s torso and your other arm has looped under his other underarm. In turn, William slid his one hand up all the way up from your thigh, along your spine up to the nape of your neck, gently grasping a small handful of your gorgeous locks. His other arm slid around your waist, the silk fabric of your neglige gathered in his hand. Although your core had pressure building from being in the position you were in, the overwhelming sense of calm and safety had momentarily usurped the need for his cock to be buried deep inside you.

After a few moments, William gently rolled you both on your sides, never releasing you from his hold. You remained intertwined as William kissed your forehead, temple…wherever he could rest his lips against.

“Kap’s going to be here tomorrow night with his new girl - think you could make it to the game and we can sneak back to your place after? I might have some ideas to try out on you now…”

“Mmm-hmm - would love that” you said drowsily, nuzzling into William even further.

William kisses your head again and breaks from the embrace for a moment; leaning over top of you, he proceeds to blow out all the candles. As his body pressed against yours, you take the opportunity to run your hands over his muscular flank, marvelling at the look and feel of such a beautiful physique.

As sleep found you both, you each drifted off with the quiet thoughts in your heads, that there was something very unique and special developing between you.

William snapped back to reality. He had to admit; Trina’s hands felt pretty good and with that, William let out a groan. With the memories of you consuming his mind, William began to get hard as Trina continued to work on loosening his tense muscles. William’s burgeoning erection caught Trina’s attention, and she wasted no time in moving her hands from his neck to his shoulders, down along his broad back muscles to his hips.

“You like that, Willy?” Trina said, her tone low and sultry.

“Mmm-hmph”

“What about this?” Trina’s hands brazenly reach around to cup his balls while sucking on his earlobe, slightly north of his diamond earring. She palms his still-clothed dick and rubs his erection in slight circular motion.

“Mmmm….good….” William responds, his voice slightly strained.

William’s mind slides back and forth with conflicting thoughts, like a car fish-tailing on ice. Images of you, your face, your body, your mouth, your taste, your touch - his desire for you - had penetrated his brain. But the voice. It’s not your voice. It’s some random girl’s voice in his ear and William’s gut twists at the thought.

Meanwhile, Trina was determined to seize her moment with the hockey star. She stands up from her position on the couch and gently nudges William to turn so he’s facing her as she stands in front of him.

William's eyes are fixed on the hem of her dress which has ridden up to the top of her thighs. Trina follows William’s gaze and looking down at William, she smiles sweetly and begins to pull her hem up even further.

“You make me so hot, Willy” Trina said, the ‘v’ of her scarcely covered cunt now on display.

She brings one of William’s hands up towards her need, opens her thighs slightly and positions the palm of his hand right against her drenched entrance.

“Shit” William said gruffly; his sweatpants have done little to mask his rigid dick. Figuring he might as well have some fun, William’s mind all but dismisses his previous thoughts concerning you and concentrates on the girl in front of him.

William runs his middle finger from the top of Trina’s folds and firmly inserts the same finger deep inside of her. Trina gasps with pleasure and both of her hands encircle William’s wrist holding his hand in place, she begins to rotate her hips over his digit, encouraging his finger to move deeper and curl inside of her.

William obliges by inserting his ring finger alongside his middle. As William gyrates his hand, Trina’s head snaps back when he connects with her sweet spot. William continues to finger fuck Trina; she releases her grip around William’s wrist and begins to knead her breasts.

“Oooooh - Willy….your thick fingers feel so fucking good inside of me” Trina whines as William continues move his fingers into her wet core.

“Let me suck your cock…I want your dick in my mouth”.

William again obliges, removing his fingers from her centre. Trina steps closer to William and lowers herself between his legs. She closes the distance between them, leaning in for their first kiss. Trina places a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on William’s mouth. Immediately he tastes a faint mint flavour mixed with something else, something stronger.

Weed maybe, he thinks to himself.

Whatever it is, it's not doing much to improve his mood.

If there's anything William’s past sexual encounters have taught him, it was better in the long run to feign enjoyment than to show ambivalence or dissatisfaction toward the girl of the moment. William is hopeful he won't have to fake anything at this point - fuck - he needs a distraction and goddammit, Trina’s just gonna have to be it.

Thankfully, Trina moves on from William’s mouth and starts pulling his sweatpants and shorts off.

Moving right along…., William thinks to himself.

Trina licks a long strip up William’s shaft; she spits on the tip and begins to stroke his cock, trying to make him a little harder.

The spit dries out without Trina even realizing it as she continues to pump his cock. William flinches at the rough and dry sensation that her too firm of a grip left on his member.

She lowers herself down to lap at his balls, enveloping one in her mouth at a time, and withdrawing it with an audible ‘pop’.

She’s trying too hard, William pondered.

He watches her alternate from ball to ball, with a ‘pop’ each time she withdraws her mouth. Trina licks another stripe up his shaft. “You like that, right Willy? You like it when I lick your balls?”

William gives a faint smile and leans his head back on the couch; not because he was enjoying Trina’s attempts at pleasuring him but to try and think of his personal turn-ons so he can get through this.

William thought of you. He thought of the way you always made his toes fucking curl whenever you took him in your mouth. Deep in your mouth as you’d innocently, almost bashfully, make eye contact with him for just a few seconds here and there. He loved watching you working your magic with your tongue, mouth and your hands, smoothing back your curls to view the best angles of your face. You never just sucked his cock. You took your time. You savoured him. You made love to his cock and balls with your mouth and God, the moans you made while you tasted him always left him reeling.

As it turns out, William’s images of you in his head had the desired effect. Now with his diminishing erection reversed, William made some small adjustments to Trina’s methods in order to keep the momentum going in the right direction.

After a few more moments, Trina stood up and she fully disrobed in front of William.“Do you want to move to the bedroom?”

If she’s anything, she’s confident, William muses.

His dogs had already been displaced once and he’s not about to do it again.

“Let’s stay out here - on the couch…just gotta go grab something”.

William stands up, naked from the waist down, and saunters into the bathroom.

Trina eyes his chiselled body walk away, almost as though she’s stalking her prey. She had been hoping to meet William ever since she spotted him one morning leaving his building to go for a walk with his dogs. Though he was dressed down in baggy sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, and a backwards baseball cap, William screamed affluence with the luxury designer labels scrawled across the articles of clothing. He was wealthy, gorgeous, and seemingly single…three of Trina’s favourite qualities. William being a popular professional athlete only further tempted Trina.

Trina’s father, a wealthy executive of a real estate development firm headquartered in Toronto, had essentially gifted her a luxury condo unit in the same neighbourhood as William, once she had graduated from university (only graduating by the skin of her teeth [doing everything at university but apply herself to her studies]; regardless, it mattered not - she still had her degree).

Both Trina’s parents had long realized, after the fact, the detrimental effects of doting on their only child’s every whim for so many years. Privileged and spoiled were the two prevalent adjectives that described their daughter. Therefore after graduation, as an ultimatum, Trina got a luxury condo (and all living expenses paid) as long as she came to work for her father as a junior executive in his firm. Trina agreed, under the condition that her closest friend, Lara (really her only friend amongst a sea of party-goers and acquaintances), could come live and work with her too.

It worked well, or at least Trina’s father thought so. If not for any other reason, Trina’s father could, at the very least, keep a watchful eye on his daughter and at the very most, attempt to infect her with a better work ethic.

While her friend Lara seemed to fit right in at the firm, Trina longed for an even easier life. She wanted to be pampered, to be looked after - she did not want to get up every morning and head to an office just to do the bare minimum while she spent the majority of time shopping online.

The one skill Trina had become quite adept at was pretending to be what she needed to be in order to get what she wants, in any given circumstance.

She had her sights on William now. She could pretend to be a dog lover - that’s how she caught his eye to begin with. She could pretend to be interested in his beloved Sweden, his family, his friends - hell, even the team…there was more than enough eye-candy to snack on with the Leafs. She fit the bill of a trophy wife perfectly and whether she became one with William, or someone else, that was her ultimate goal.

Presently, Trina was pretending to be William’s personal pornstar.

Trina leaned back on the couch with her legs splayed, stroking her sensitive clit, awaiting William’s return. When he finally emerged, his cock semi-erect already covered by a condom, he laid a towel on the couch and then sat down on the middle cushion. He smiled at Trina who was now sitting in an upright position and motions for her to climb aboard.

Trina straddles William; her mouth devours him with more open-mouthed kisses. At this stage, William knew he was just going through the motions; there was zero chemistry, sexual or otherwise, between them.

Struggling to keep his erection, he breaks from her kiss and rubs the tip of his cock back and forth through the slickness of her folds. He positions the tip at Trina’s entrance. Eventually (and gratefully), his cock is rigid enough to slide into her.

Trina adjusted herself to William’s girth and began to slowly rock back and forth. William was cautiously optimistic about how good this is actually starting to feel. Trina had only succeeded in killing his hard-ons so far so he was hoping for a quick release; after she leaves he can just go to bed with his dogs and put this whole experience behind him.

William grabbed onto Trina’s hips and drove his frustration into her. She screamed in pleasure, calling his name as she bounced on top of him.

Fuck - my neighbours are going to hate me.

Trina continued grinding, bouncing and rotating on Wiliiam’s cock at a furious pace; her chest flushed with pink as she worked his cock and her tits bounced in William’s line of sight.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, yes, Willy…like that” Trina whined emphatically.

It was clear to William at that moment she was exaggerating most of the sounds she was making. Hell, he had made you wail and scream with the most mind bending orgasms that you never thought were possible. William knew that with you, your cries and grasps were genuine and that he was witnessing the real thing, several times over.

William had been around the block with his cock enough to know Trina was overacting and it was getting on William’s last nerve.

Moan after moan, hitting a higher decibel each time, William had reached his limit. His hands circle Trina’s waist lifting her off his cock. With no verbal cues, he positioned Trina back on the couch so he could enter her from behind. He’s frustrated and annoyed at himself more than anything, so he’s just going to fuck her and hopefully the pillow she’s holding onto will muffle her noise.

William closes his eyes and enters Trina. It’s not long before she’s grasping the arm of the couch with the force of William’s dick buried deep inside of her. William grips her hips holding them steady as he continuously bottoms out, his encased shaft is slick and shiny with Trina’s wetness from her core.

“Faster, Willy! Faster….oh god, harder, Willy!” Trina pleads.

Jesus - she’s trying to kill me.

Miraculously, William’s close to release. His hips ram against Trina’s ass as hard and as fast as he could manage while Trina feverishly rubs her clit. A loud shriek signals Trina’s orgasm. Her pussy walls clenching helped William reach his own climax and a few thick streams of cum collect in the reservoir tip of the condom.

Thank Christ this is over.

Trina half collapses on the couch and rolls onto her back. Her sleek figure shines from the thin layer of sweat from their late afternoon’s strenuous activities.

“Oh my God Willy…that was so good, so fucking good…” Trina chuckles, still out of breath. A lazy grin adorns her pretty face. William, having already gotten up to dispose of the condom, returns to the living room, still naked from the waist down.

“Ha, yeah…well, I try” William smiles, grabbing a pillow to place on his lap .

William paused for a moment as he surveyed the situation and whether Trina planned on staying longer.

“I’m sorry to say this but I feel a migraine coming on - could we call it a night?”

Trina sat up and moved closer to William on the couch.

“Oh..I’m sorry, I was hoping that massage, and well, everything else I did would have helped”.

“No, no, the massage was great but I think the headache was already too far gone to really stop it. I just need to crawl into bed, not move and have no sounds around me, and hopefully I’ll sleep until tomorrow.

Trina offers to stay multiple times and William declines each offer. Although William was ready to snap, he kept his composure, pulled his pants back on, helped gather her things and politely escorted her to the door.

Trina leans in and plants another open-mouthed kiss on William’s mouth.

William’s lack of reciprocation went unnoticed by Trina.

“Feel better, Willy - maybe call me later…if you can,” Trina smiles and leans in, giving him a hug.

“Yeah, thanks - have a good night”. William waves as she enters the elevator and he then gently closes the door.

William hangs his head and exhales; there’s so much going on in his mind. He goes into the bedroom, kneels on the floor and brings his face close to each of the dogs.

“Sorry boys….fuck. Never again with that one”.

The dogs are quick to smother William with kisses.

“I’ll take you guys out in a few minutes, ok?”

William climbs onto his bed and grabs his phone. He pulls up his Mom's number and types a quick note:

Hey Mom… if you’re sure, let’s do the Xmas thing at Y/N’s. I’ll reach out to her myself

William’s stomach flips at the thought of contacting you. Despite the time that had long passed since William effectively removed you from his life, his mind would still betray him time after time with the many memories of you in his mind's eye. William often longed to reach out to you and in his quietest moments, William always held a very private and guarded hope that one day, you would wind up together.

These thoughts only intensified for William when, in late July this past summer, William spotted you at Mitch and Stephanie’s wedding. You had third-wheeled it with Tessa and Morgan, who had also tied the knot that summer in a much more secretive manner. With Tessa being one of your closest friends of the last 10 plus years, she knew you might need a crash helmet when you initially laid your eyes on him for the first time in forever, so she and Morgan invited you to come along with them.

When the moment came that you and William first glanced at each other, no air bag or crash helmet was needed. You and William shared a long and lingering look at each other amongst the guests that meandered around the dancefloor. Neither of you could control the wide smiles that spanned your faces. For not only did everything seem right in the world for a mere moment, your dress and William’s pants were the exact same shade of lilac. Your chosen outfits looked obnoxiously pre-planned and the comedy of your attire wasn’t lost on those in attendance that knew of your shared history. They laughed and gestured at you both, all of them getting a kick out of the sight of the two of you being all matchy-matchy.

It served as an icebreaker for you and William; you simply looked him up and down and commented, rather dryly, saying “well, I ain’t changing…I was here first” followed by a cheeky grin. William approached you and extended his arms for a hug. All the hurt from the past temporarily washed away in that moment, and you both felt genuinely happy to see each other.

The small talk flowed easily and you both quickly fell back into light and vivacious exchanges. William began to wonder if he might be able to steal you away before the end of the night. After all, being among the very few bachelors in attendance, it would be a fantasy-come-to-reality scenario to spend the night with you. When William finally managed to ask what your plans after the reception were, he was crushed to find out you would be leaving early, right after your last performance at the reception (oftentimes at weddings, you were not only a guest but were part of the entertainment as well).

Things never change, William thought. It was this main reason why he ended your affair so many years ago.

William couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Still not in one place for very long, eh?”

You were quick to react to his comment inside your head; a feeling somewhere between annoyance and hurt. You felt the sting of one of his last spoken sentiments to you all those years ago about always needing to leave where he was, yet again, for something else.

Quietly you respond. “Well…unfortunately it’s a rehearsal for a musical tribute in Ireland for a dear friend and a mentor of mine who recently passed, rather unexpectedly.” An intense urge to cry hit you without warning, and it took all your might, along with a hard swallow, to keep the tears from appearing.

What you really wanted, and you were thoroughly ashamed to admit this to yourself, was to go to William and lose yourself completely in his arms. After all these years, he still had an effect on you like no one you had ever known.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N…I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole”, William said quietly after seeing you struggle to hide the sorrow on your face.

“William, no, I get it - it’s ok. Honestly though, if I had it my way, she’d still be alive and I’d be having more fun tonight as opposed to belting out a few songs, nursing my Pink Whitney, and then having to catch a flight.”

William pulled you in for a side hug and kept his arm draped around your shoulder as you walked together to rejoin Rasmus Sandin and his girlfriend Lisa.

As you enjoyed the lively banter between the Swedes in attendance, mixed with Jumbo Joe Thornton’s boisterous brand of humour, you were summoned away from William’s side. You excused yourself from the group and as you walked away, you glanced at William’s face and smiled warmly. He leaned in towards you and gently placed his hand on the exposed skin on your lower back. With his voice lowered, just above a whisper, he said “Good luck up there. Come find me after.”

But as fate, or rather too many prolonged drunken speeches and several other delays, once you had finished performing (at Stephanie’s request) Taylor Swift’s “22”, you were whisked away, with no opportunity for goodbyes, into the awaiting car in order to catch your flight to Dublin.

As the car speeds along the Queen Elizabeth Way towards Pearson Airport, you busy yourself with sending a series of texts, starting with Mitch and Stephanie, thanking them and wishing them well for their honeymoon. A flurry of messages are exchanged between you and the other wedding go-ers until finally, you reach William’s contact information.

Feelings had rapidly thawed between you and William but there still was a palpable distance, a recognizable gap in which that great span of time apart, with no communication, had created. You wistfully type:

it was really great to see you…hope you’re having a blast.

Not long after you pressed send, your phone shows an image being received. After a few more seconds, a selfie appeared of Rasmus and William in sleeveless t-shirts with Zeus portrayed on the front.

You can’t help but laugh out loud.

You two…fucking adorable 😄

A lone heart acknowledges your message.

Back at the wedding, William stares at the screen of his phone.

Rasmus can clearly see his friend’s disappointment; he knew William well, and he was aware of the torch he had always carried for you. Rasmus could also see the sadness in your eyes whenever you looked at William. Rasmus knew how fortunate he was to have found his love in Lisa, and he felt strongly it truly existed between you and William as well. If only you could get on the same fucking page at the same time.

Rasmus puts his arm around William’s shoulders. “Sorry she left, bro. But at least you got a chance to talk to her again”. Rasmus paused before ending with “You never know.”

Rasmus, one of William’s closest friends and forever the optimist, smiles and motions for him to put his phone away. “Let’s just fucking enjoy the rest of the night”.

William stuffs his phone in his pocket and the two friends venture off toward the dancefloor where the sound of whoops and hollers co-mingle with the guests screaming out the lyrics to Rasputin by Boney M.

William quickly distracted himself enough to diminish the thoughts that had been circling his mind about you, and concentrated on having a night with his many friends and former teammates.

By the next day, with William’s eventual departure back to Stockholm and you deep in the throes of rehearsals in Dublin, any feeling that may have arisen during the brief encounter between you and William seemed to dissipate. It seemed apparent, at that moment at least, too much time had passed for either of you to feel secure in contacting the other.

William resumed his off-season activities and on the surface, his brush with you had no real impact on his current life. He saw whomever he wanted to, slept with whomever he wanted to and detached from whomever he wanted to. Even after your name made it into the headlines across Europe and North America regaling your poignant and stunning tribute to the late, great Sinead O’Connor, William simply scrolled past the article on his phone. It was better for him to have you remain out of sight and therefore out of mind.

You had mixed feelings, however. You couldn’t never quite grasp, never quite understand why William’s mere presence affected you so profoundly. You surmised that’s what made you you, and what made your musical career so successful was the depths in which your feelings ran, and how it was converted to song. On the other side of the coin was, once again, the realization - that slap across the face, that William did not feel the same about you. You had allowed what transpired between you and William to completely derail you for years. You simply hadn’t been interested in meeting anyone. Love had shown it’s occasional cruelty in the past but unrequited love was pure unmitigated torture and you enabled it enough to shut down the myriad of advances from men. But It was enough now; you just needed to let go.

And the fog you had been in did eventually lift. You had come to terms that you were ready to find that person; a partner to build a life and a family with. You were approaching 31 years of age and you had deep desires for an exciting future with someone by your side. William’s life seemed to be on a completely different trajectory than yours; his recent admissions during his stint in Stockholm during the Leafs visit had people buzzing that William might be more of a fuck-boy than they had originally thought. And all judgements aside - he’s allowed to blow off steam and decompress however he wants - that version of William that the media was salivating over now was of little interest to you.

[back to the present moment]

William remains on his bed, continuously starting and deleting a text addressed to you. He repeats this 5, 6, 8 times before his frustration with himself boils over. He tosses his phone away from him as if it suddenly had turned into a hot potato.

William rubs his eyes with a bit too much force, almost in an attempt to diminish the gnawing feeling he has in his stomach.

Fuck.

Letting out a long sigh, William turns to Pablo and Banksy who had started to play fight on the bed. “Alright boys, let’s make this quick - it’d be my luck that girl is still hanging out somewhere around the building” William said as he picked up each dog for a quick nuzzle and then set them down on the floor to get ready.

#william nylander #willy styles #nhl imagine #hockey fic #smut #hockey smut #nylander x reader

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talonpaw · 3 months

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i know we’re already halfway into 2024, but i JUST realized i forgot to do this…

i’ve started creating monthly playlists— no specific genre, just compiling every single song i have on rotation during a particular month. helps to serve as a time capsule and a glimpse into my past self’s psyche.

and 2023 is the first time I’ve documented a full year of playlists! presenting…

my year in lists: 2023

(january 2023! a moody and downtrodden winter. lots of Carly Cosgrove, as they played a show with a local band that i’m fond of… also featuring AJJ’s Knife Man! that album always seems to pop back up in dark times…)

(february 2023! still gloomy, but a bit more upbeat, a little more angry! highlights include: Joyce Manor as i saw them open for PUP, and the new Paramore album! i also revisited Laurel Hell by Mitski this month…)

(march 2023! highlights include: new Gorillaz AND new 100 Gecs???? plus Gorillaz self-titled… was also in a midwest emo mood, with Pet Symmetry, Mom Jeans AND Slaughter Beach, Dog 😭)

(april 2023! this one’s a breakup playlist, but i’m not sure if you’d be able to tell just by looking at it… highlights include the Romance is Boring (Los Campesinos!) + Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge (My Chemical Romance) combo…)

(may 2023! this one’s pretty sparse, i just moved back home…)

(june 2023! fun mix of pop and rock! you can tell that spiderverse came out this month 😭 was also listening to AJJ’s Disposable Everything from late May!)

(july 2023! this one’s just kinda Weird. i don’t think a single artist appears more than once. my camp counselor era…)

(august 2023! this month was also a Blur!)

(september 2023! this one was so short because i was mostly just listening to Beast Monster Thing (Love Isn’t Love Enough) by car seat headrest over and over and over and over and…)

(october 2023! the FNAF month! misc. indie, featuring some spooky songs as well)

(november 2023! THE big, stressful event! this one reflects my messy headspace at the time. featuring two songs from public void by Penelope Scott. this month also contained not one, but two miniature roadtrips with my future partner…)

(december 2023! no December playlist is complete without multiple songs from the Los Campesinos! Christmas EP.)

#talon.txt #my year in lists #let’s see if tumblr lets me post this now

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pluralprompts · 2 years

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Submitted Prompt #51

System A and Person B have become pretty close recently. They are spending some downtime together at System A's home, after the two had a few stressful and late nights at work/school. Person B falls asleep. System A notices this, and stops whatever they're doing to place a blanket on Person B before they catch a cold.

Inside System A's headspace, someone new appears close to front. Headmate A.1 is busy controlling the body, finishing up whatever tasks are left before heading to bed as well. Headmate A.2, in co-con, notices the new member though! A perfect reflection of Person B stands very awkwardly, not quite confused but not quite comfortable.

"You must be a new factive! We do tend to get factives when we get to know someone a lot." Headmate A.2 says, greeting Person B.

"I... Don't know what that is," Person B says sheepishly. "What's uhm- what is all this? It's very... Interesting..."

They gesture around at the headspace.

Headmate A.2 grins, leading Person B around a bit. "This is System A! Well, our headspace at least. Oh, we're a bunch of people sharing a body by the way! Ask questions if you need. We've got plenty to do inside and out- this is the front, where you can control the body, but it takes a bit of getting used to. And we've got lots of friends too, like me- oh I'm Headmate A.2 by the way. Then there's A.1, A.3, A.4- wait, I should ask your name! What's your name, newbie?"

"I'm Person B. And wait- you're- we're inside... System A?"

"That's one way to put it."

"In their brain?"

"Yeah."

"... But I was in their house just a second ago?" Person B pulls a hand through their hair. "I must've fallen asleep on the couch. This is a weird dream. I always have weird dreams when I sleep on the couch!"

Headmate A.2 quiets for a moment as Person B tries to reason with themself. When their trail of excuses becomes mumbled and soft, they speak up again. "Okay, this can be very confusing for a lot of newbies, but you're... Not actually Person B, you're just based on what we think of them. You can only imagine those memories of being in our house from our perspective, right?"

"No," they answer immediately. "No, it's from my view."

Headmate A.2 sighs. "A.1, can we go check on Person B? This new member is a factive that thinks they really are Person B having a dream."

"Sure." A.1 is a person of much fewer words than A.2, clearly. Person B watches them, realizing they're staring at something almost screen-like. It displays a view of System A's house, and suddenly, there they are on screen, sleeping peacefully on the couch. A fluffy throw blanket is on top of them. That wasn't there before.

Person B stares at the screen. The other two are silently waiting for a reaction.

"Alright. That was fun, but I shouldn't be sleeping on the couch anyways. It's bad for my back."

Both headmates turn towards Person B as they speak. Person B waves, then pinches themself hard in the arm. In a poof of smoke, they disappear- and of course, wake up on the couch. It didn't really feel like waking up, more like they'd just closed their eyes for a few minutes. They sit up, noticing System A is now sitting on an arm chair and staring at them with wide eyes.

Person B smiles. "G'morning. Sorry about dozing off on your couch." They go to stand up, a light weight tangling around their legs. They had the same blanket from their dream on. "Y'know, I had the weirdest dream... Just now."

"Did it... Involve you jumping into my brain somehow?"

Person B nodded. "Always quick on the uptake, aren't you. But yeah it was so weir- wait how did you know that?"

"... Uhh... Shit."

"Wait – did that – was – did you see – feel – hear – me? In your head?" Person B stuttered, the reality of the situation suddenly hitting them. They prayed System A was joking and just hit the luckiest coincidental guess ever- but the mortified look on their face said otherwise.

"Yeah," System A said, eventually, voice so quiet it wouldn't echo in an empty glass.

Falling back on the couch, Person B fainted. And promptly popped back up in System A's headspace again. A.2 threw their hands in the air and shouted, "Welcome back!" And A.1 groaned – both internally and externally.

#plural system #pluralgang #plurality #pluralprompt #prompt blog #prompt #submission #any tone #this is a wh.ole n.ovel sorry not sorry?#the dreamworld system #jobs #school #new headmate #dream #dream walking #factive #passing out

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chdarling · 2 years

Note

Every time I try to think about what to ask you about chapters 48 and 49 my brain actually gets overwhelmed because there are 572 directions and things I'd like to ask/share/gush about so instead I'm going to do this...

Before you take a well deserved break, I just want to ask how YOU feel to be posting the recent chapters. I think you said a certain scene from ch48 was written in 2018 (possibly before), and we all lost our minds over it, but how do YOU feel to finally have it in the open?!

I hope you have a beautifully restful break and I will be eagerly awaiting the next update! (Also don't think I haven't noticed your comments about how you could have left us with a much worse cliffhanger... because that makes me feel like THERE ARE MUCH WORSE CLIFFHANGERS STILL TO COME?!)

🥺

I feel a little emotional about it to be honest hahah. For reasons unrelated to fandom, I’ve been in a very self-reflective headspace lately, and I’ve been thinking a lot about how long it has taken me to get to a place where I felt confident in sharing my writing (and honestly this is still a journey; I fully freak after posting every chapter. This shit will never not be scary lol). I have kept this project as my little secret hobby for literally so many years, and it’s strange to reflect on that now that I’ve been actively sharing my work for two years. I don’t think I regret those years of secrecy per se, because I don’t think TLE would exist in the way it does now with the same level of intense plotting and detail if I hadn’t stewed over it privately for as long as I did. But I also know that it wasn’t a commitment to plotting and detail that kept me stewing, it was a pretty firm belief that my writing was a silly little time-wasting hobby that no one would ever read and I needed to put it behind me and spend my energy on other things (spoiler: I didn’t).

So yeah, it’s pretty special to me to post a chapter that has some prose and dialogue I wrote back in 2018 — which incidentally was a peak time for the “Stop writing, CH!” campaign that my brain was running — and get the response these recent chapters have garnered. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t gotten just a wee bit teary-eyed over it. I’m truly thankful for you all. 🥲

Anyway! Thank you so much for this message, love, and for opening the door for me to be a little overly reflective tonight hahaha. ❤️

And no comment on the cliffhangers 😌

#ch answers #tle2 #tle2 spoilers #ch 48 #ch 49

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kart0 · 8 months

Note

I hope you know that just because you aren’t creating and posting art doesn’t mean you aren’t an artist or you’re not worth anything. Being an artist doesn’t just go away, be kind to yourself, be patient with yourself, you deserve that at the very least. Your art is gorgeous and beautiful and it is a reflection of your soul, that doesn’t change whether or not someone is looking. Take a break from drawing, rediscover what drew you in in the first place, take some time to gather inspiration. Your skills don’t dissipate automatically, you’re in a tough headspace, don’t tie your worth to your ability to produce art, you are more than that. Please just be kind to yourself for the time being, you are strong, you won’t be any less strong if you reach out for more help.

Thank you, and sorry for the late reply. I tried to occupy myself, and even had a mini vacation and went to the beach.

And I really can't thank you hard enough for these kind words. I really needed to hear them. I am a bit hard on myself, and for that I will apologize by trying to treat myself more kindly.

About drawing, I've decided to go on a different route. Draw furries ! I know it's a different approach and not everyone's cup of tea but I have an interest in them and been postponing how to learn them. It's pretty fun. I'm gonna censor my drawing, so if you don't like furries, please do not click on it ! But I will describe the drawing: a bust drawing of a black dog wearing a mustard yellow sweater. That's it.

I know it sounds simple, but it's something I've drawn and felt proud for the first time in ages.

Tomorrow classes start again and I'm really nervous, but hopefully my body and headspace will get back on track and I'll start drawing again.

#update #ask #me #furry art

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lovejustforaday · 8 months

Text

2023 Year End List - #2

Ooh Rap I Ya - George Clanton

Main genres: Baggy, Chillwave

A decent sampling of: Trip Hop, Dream Pop, Synth Pop, Vaporwave, Breakbeat

Okay okay so yeah I'm very late to the whole George Clanton thing. Look you guyz, vaporwave and its adjacent scenes have never really been my cup of tea due to the general over-saturation of super amateur "vibes" artists with no songwriting chops. The gratuitous Japanese has also always reeked of pretentiousness to me. But there's almost always at least one diamond in the rough.

And I know that Clanton is really more regarded as a chillwave artist, and I know that there's a meaningful distinction between these genres, especially since the term 'chillwave' is at least a year or two older. But I guess in my own mind I just kinda put him in with the former, so he wasn't particularly high on my list of things to check out.

That is, until I saw those peculiar genre tags on his latest record and the general praise it got on my favourite insufferable hipster website rateyourmusic.com (sue me bitch). Baggy and chillwave together? Now THAT was something I had to hear.

And it just so happened to turn out that his stuff blew me away completely. Even upon my first listen, this LP had basically already skyrocketed to the number 2 spot on my year end list and managed to hold on for the rest of the year.

Every note off of Ooh Rap I Ya is drenched in a multicoloured neon slush that tastes like pure fifth gen console nostalgia (yes that's the only thing I can recall about the 90s tyvm). A portal to a dimension floating in a solution of sheer serotonin, with groovy baggy rhythms and gooey, acid-y synths. Layers upon layers of unabashed awesomeness condensed into thirty eight minutes that feel like hours of non-stop raving that still somehow ends all too soon.

There's been way more than enough homages in the 21st century paying tribute to 80s synth pop and its related genres. I'm glad that someone out there finally decided that the early 90s British baggy scene and its related "Madchester" club culture deserved a work of similar celebratory fondness. Not that I'm honestly too well-versed in it myself, though hearing this certainly makes me feel like taking that genre deep dive next year.

But like all good throwback revivalism, this record doesn't just rehash the era that it's paying tribute to. There's a lot of contemporary production techniques and ideas being applied here, and it's all filtered through a very post-internet 2.0 chillwave online aesthetics lens. And while sonically it feels incredibly optimistic, the lyrics have definitely been injected with some of the generational existentialism of its time.

Moreover, this basically just kicks ass more than 98% of anything else released this year. The songwriting is tight, the riffs are infectious to no end, the sound design is simply godlike, and Clanton's trippy pretty boy vocal styling blends seamlessly into this genre. It's just some good fucking timeless music that happens to be heavily influenced by a very time-and-place sound.

"Justify Your Life" has a very particular vibe, as though it was written from that headspace you get when it's 2:00 am and you should be tired, but instead your mind is hyper awake and you're up just kinda reflecting on everything over the last six months. The whole thing rides on the wave of a breezy looped guitar feedback sample, taking little plunges into deep plasmatic psychedelics during the chorus. Very chill and daydreamy, but also a little agitated and melancholy.

The torrential, churning feel-good chaos of "Punching Down" is almost enough to make me feel sick. So sugary and whimsical, you'd be totally forgiven if you missed George's lyrics dissing on the subject of the song, who might just probably be himself. The combination of rubbery arcade synths and a blown out drum machine pattern absolutely buries this song in a totally orgasmic collage. Someone shook the soda can and let it spray all over the damn place. Makes my brain go all fuzzy.

"I Been Young" is a quarter life crisis anthem that's musically somewhere halfway between INXS and Chapterhouse. Very boy band meets neo-psychedelia. The lyrics are poignant in a way I think all of us are destined to feel at some point. But there's also a kind of bittersweet, triumphant silver lining at play here, as in "yeah, life is pretty fucked, but look how far you've come!". Clanton does the great big beautiful chorus thing in a way that I've heard very few artists really manage to pull off so cool and effortlessly. Those colossal piano chords are purely divine. No other song this year comes quite so close to the sentimental, end-credits energy that this song manages to emanate from its very core. Insanely potent, and plainly one of the greatest songs of the decade so far.

"You Hold The Key And I Found It" has me swimming downwards in slow motion. This is for the point of the night at the rave for when you're beyond blasted, and you're kind of just absorbing your surroundings, with every second being its own little eternity. More vaporwave than anything else off the record, but this is a brilliant example of the genre's potential when the songs have the right amount of pulse to them.

"Ooh Rap I Ya" glows like little flourescent fishies swimming in an aquarium. Little bit of a new jack swing meets trip hop vibe on the beat here which makes it extra comfy and danceable. Those "ooh rap I ya"s during the bridge that give the album its title are just so sexy and snappy; I believe I've caught myself singing it at random at least a dozen times in the last month alone.

The sluggish closer "For You, I Will" is insane. This. Song. Is. Massive. I can't get over how utterly consuming it sounds, like impenetrable walls being erected towards the sky that obscure the nature of reality. This one simply must be heard on headphones to get the full experience. George Clanton employed the help of Hatchie 💖 to do the backing vocals on this, which I personally thought was a really cute addition seeing as how her 2022 record Giving The World Away was basically the only other prominent LP of the last few years (or decades, more likely) to pay a lot of homage to the 90s baggy sound.

For as consistently brilliant as the album sounds to my ears, I do admit I have one gripe with this record that I just couldn't look past to give it a 10.

The gripe is that "F.U.M.L." to me is just a weaker, simpler take on "I Been Young". I guess the whole ultra-teenage upbeat pop punk "let's chant gleefully about being edgy and depressed" has never really been my thing either (Looking at you Wheatus, grrrrr), no matter how many layers of nostalgia or even irony you try to bury it under. Maybe an uncharitable take, it's still a pretty decent song and production-wise it's excellent, but I have basically no fondness for it when compared to anything else on the LP.

But anyhow, shut the fuck up already Bradley cuz this record is goddamn amazing. Ooh Rap I Ya has very quickly become one of my favourites of the decade - heavily grounded in the psychedelic baggy sounds it derives from, while managing to be so incredibly forward thinking in its maximalist production and songwriting. George Clanton just landed himself at the top of my list of artists to be on the look out for new releases in the next few coming years.

9/10

Highlights: "I Been Young", "Punching Down", "For You, I Will", "You Hold The Key And I Found It", "Ooh Rap I Ya", "Justify Your Life", "Everything I Want"

#album review #music review #list #aoty #year end list #2023 #alternative rock #alternative dance #neo-psychedelia #baggy #chillwave #electronic #dance #ooh rap i ya #george clanton #90s nostalgia #aoty2023 #madchester

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sixpossumsinatrenchcoat · 11 months

Text

The things we leave behind: PERSISTENCE

In the last act of my postgame Headspace AU, Sunny and Omori finally, *actually* talk. You can start from Chapter 1 (of 6) here: ao3.org/works/45213322/chapters/113743957

Then nothing happens for two weeks.

...Well. That’s technically not true. Now that Sunny lives in the real world, things are always happening. Kel’s intramural basketball team wins a grudge match against the YMCA that Kel’s decided is their nemesis. Aubrey bums a cigarette off some girl in an alley and then drops off the grid for eight days before resurfacing to report, with clear regret, that “Helen still has a lot of growing up to do.”

Sunny squints at her. “You’re like... 20.”

“Maybe physically,” Aubrey sniffs. “But I’m wise beyond my years.”

Basil spirals into a full-fledged breakdown over an end-of-term deadline before very nervously accepting a few of Kel’s Adderall. Then he writes the whole paper in five hours and spends the rest of the night deep-cleaning Sunny’s kitchen and alphabetizing the spice rack and organizing all the treasures in the junk drawer by material and size. Which would be fine, until he wakes Sunny up at 4 in the morning to ask if the arthropod fossil should be filed under ‘stones’ or ‘organic materials.’

“I don’t care,” hisses Sunny, who’s 80% asleep and 100% incensed. “I hate you. If you ever take Kel’s meds again, I’ll kill you.”

Hero convinces himself that he bombed an exam and spends four days stress-baking before Sunny has to physically stop him, because the fridge is so full of banana bread and shortcake that there’s no room for actual groceries. (Hero gets an A. Obviously. This happens every month.)

Kel gets his ear pierced. Aubrey goes along to keep him company and walks out with two new tattoos. Basil starts experimenting with aquaponics. Sunny starts experimenting with gouache.

Things keep happening, but only when he’s awake. No more nighttime visitors. No more weird, reality-breaking dreams. Sunny thinks about Omori sometimes, but he doesn’t waste time worrying. If Omori needs him, he knows how to find him.

It might have been nice to find out how everything turned out. To wrap the whole ordeal up neatly, with a bow. But by now, Sunny knows that closure only exists in fiction. In real life, stories don’t end. They just… stop.

Then he starts seeing things.

And not just the usual things, e.g. street art, stray cats, sunsets. A specific thing. Something… behind him.

He’s in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, when his eye snags on a blur of motion in the mirror. Something long and lifeless, swinging from the rafters. When he whips around to look, it’s gone.

He’s lying awake late into the night, waiting for sleep to take him. He’s already taken melatonin and Advil PM and two CBD gummies and a Valerian tincture under his tongue, which is… pretty much everything a guy can do, sleep-wise. From there, it’s just about keeping your eyes shut and not looking at your phone. But Sunny hates doing nothing. He spent four years doing nothing but. And when he finally sighs and sits up, he can’t not see the figure looming over the foot of his bed. Lank black hair on dead white skin.

He’s getting up to get a glass of water. Or he’s skulking between high-rises on a storm-gray day, trying not to look at his reflection in the glass. He dips his brush into the palette and pretends he can’t see the eye glaring up through a pool of Eggshell White.

But he can’t run away forever. He’s not sure he’d even want to.

It feels increasingly clear that Mari (or Omori, or his subconscious mind or whatever) is trying to tell him something. He just doesn’t know what it is.

It would help if he could talk about it. Hero is unnaturally good at sussing out why Sunny’s feeling what he’s feeling, usually before Sunny’s even noticed that he’s feeling it. Not as good at Mari, but still very good. And Basil knows more than anyone about what’s going on in Sunny’s head.

But they would worry. Their nightmares might get a little more colorful; a little more specific. And it’s not like Sunny really minds. He’s always happy to see Mari.

####

Legacy is funny. It never looks the way you would’ve guessed, but it’s almost always right.

Take Mari. Mari’s legacy is:

Mischief (and with it, the growing conviction that she knows more than she’s letting on),

Unnervingly keen, loving attention,

Fucking with people for sport, and

Picnics.

Picnics are the big one. Like Mari, they sit at the junction between worlds. It’s the ideal middle ground between indoor kids and outdoor kids; between fragile, bookish readers and rough-and-tumble wrasslers. Even after seven years without her, the friends she left behind are still happiest stretched out on a grass-stained gingham blanket, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their skin.

Everyone picnics differently. Kel and Aubrey romp around in the grass, throwing a frisbee or racing to the nearest bodega to decide who’ll foot the bill for a family-pack of ice cream sandwiches. Basil likes to find a safe little corner to write in his notebook or read—anything that makes him look busy enough to speak up when he wants to, without feeling like he has to. Hero studies and studies and occasionally glances up to make sure Kel didn’t leave the cooler open again. And Sunny? Sunny sits back and watches the show. He yawns and rolls over and naps in the heat of the sun.

Speaking of which. Sunny stretches like a cat and flops backward, till his head comes to rest in the crook of Mari’s knee.

“Hehe,” she giggles, grinning down at him. “Silly little kitty. We should get you a bell. You and Mewo could match!”

Sunny wrinkles his nose. “It might wake me up.”

“A fate worse than death,” she says gravely. “Don’t worry, little brother. If anyone tries to bell you, I’ll bell them.”

Well. Good.

He’s about to close his eyes when a shadow falls over her. Long, dark. Cold. A gash of white in a pillar of black, its edges billowing in the breeze.

Sunny’s breath catches. Mari. But— But she was just—

…Oh. He must be dreaming. When he’s awake, Mari doesn’t go around hosting picnics. When Sunny’s awake, his sister is dead.

“Um,” he says. “Hi.”

His sister’s smiling face flickers. The phantom looming above her stretches longer still. “...Sun…ny… Can we… ta…lk…?”

Sunny sits up obediently. He always wants to talk to Mari.

“…ehe…” the shadow giggles. “Listen… Nee…d… you… Omori…”

Sunny stiffens. Does that mean that Omori really is in trouble? But—Omori knows where to find him. If he needed help, why wouldn’t he just ask?”

One huge, sideways eye creases with amusement. “…Like h…ow… you did…?”

Oh. Right. Sunny knows how to ask for help now. And even now, it’s rarely his first instinct. But when he was Omori’s age…

He shakes himself off. “What do I do?”

“...Eas…ier… if…” The phantom stretches out one long gray tendril of shadow. “…show… you…”

Her spectral flesh feels gelatinous against his skin, rubbery-cold as dragonfruit. “Show me.”

###

Sunny opens his eyes in a white void. Cold as the vacuum of space and just as endless. But this time, White Space isn’t vacant. He can hear murmured voices, the rustle of cloth and the hush of breath.

When he sits up, he finds three figures and seven eyes staring back at him. The weird thing is, not one of them belongs to Omori.

Ex-Chairman Hero is here, looking vaguely puzzled and majorly perturbed. Basil hovers by his elbow, wringing his hands worriedly. But his shadow is distinctly not wringing its hands. Its arms are crossed, its searing eyes narrowed with impatience. Behind them, the specter of Mari—or is it Something, now? Sunny makes a mental note to ask her what she likes to be called—still looms.

“Um,” Sunny says. It’s not exactly the welcome he expected. “Hi?”

Headspace Basil gives him an anxious little smile. “Thanks very much for coming. I think we could use all the help we can get.”

When he closes his mouth, his voice keeps on going without it. “Yeah, right,” it mutters.

Basil looks mortified. “S-Stop that!!”

“I just don’t see why he’d open up to some random guy if he won’t even see his best friend,” Basil’s voice says sullenly. The words seem to issue out from his shadow, without any intermediary vocal cords.

“Aw, c’mon, Basil,” Hero laughs. “We talked about this! Sunny isn’t just some guy. He’s Omori’s—um. He’s…”

Sunny listens with interest. He’d always wondered what Omori’s friends thought of him. (If they’d thought of him at all. Until recently, Sunny had never actually set foot in Headspace. And the only one who ever came to White Space was Omori. Sunny had sort of had the impression that no one else could come here.)

Hero clears his throat. “A-hem. Um. Sunny is— He’s Omori’s…” He frowns a little and leans back, looking up into Something’s sideways eye. “What did you say he was?”

“...I thought y…ou were su…pposed to be an… honor student…”

“It’s not like they put this on our exams!!”

The specter snickers. “…Don’t… think too hard… about it…”

Hero grins ruefully. “Yeah, that’s… not really something I’m good at.”

“…ehe…” the phantom giggles. It’s not the same as Mari’s laugh. Mari’s laugh was a cheeky little snicker, like a cat playing with its food—unless you caught her off guard, in which case it barreled out of her like a foghorn. This is barely an echo of that. But the mischief is the same. “...If you… insist… Just… think of Sun…ny as my… little brother…”

Hero frowns. “But Omori’s your brother.”

“…yes…”

“But Sunny’s not Omori’s brother?”

“…definitely not…”

Basil’s shadow snickers. “Trust your girlfriend on this one. You’re not ready for the big picture.”

“G-Girlfriend???” Hero squawks, his voice breaking halfway. “We’re not— I mean!! It’s not like we…” He trails off. On the ground in front of him, Sunny is raising his hand. “Uh. Yes? Sunny?”

“I don’t understand.” Of course Sunny is happy to see them all. Together, especially. But— “Where are Kel and Aubrey?”

The specter of Mari flickers like a moth trapped inside a projector.

Hero winces, too. “We’re, uh. Still working on that.”

“...Still… a little sc…ared…” Mari whispers. “...Not their fault… Doing their best…”

Sunny’s forehead furrows. It doesn’t make sense. Aubrey is famously fearless. And Kel never slows down for long enough to get properly scared. Basil, on the other hand…

Mari’s edges flutter with another whistling laugh. “...Stranger and… I… go wa-a-a-ay back…”

“The nerd’s only scared of stupid stuff, anyway,” Basil’s shadow agrees. “Being wrong, and getting in trouble and things. He’s fine when it’s actually scary.”

“A-hem!” Basil huffs, planting one foot squarely on his shadow’s two-dimensional face. “I-I think we can all agree that— The point is, we’re all just worried about Omori!!”

“Worried he’ll disappear again,” his shadow hisses. “That he’ll leave us all behind.”

“Which would be fine!!” Basil rushes to clarify. “I-If that was what he really… Or, I mean… If that was r-really what was best for him, then—”

“But it’s not,” his shadow says flatly. “What? It’s true. You don’t have to pretend like it isn't. He isn’t moving on, he’s just being stupid. Again. Running away like a scared little kid.”

“He is a scared little kid,” Sunny points out.

Basil’s shadow rolls its eyes. “Yeah, well. Join the club.”

…Fair.

But that still doesn’t explain what Sunny’s meant to do about it. If they just need someone to talk to Omori, there’s got to be someone more qualified. Like. Literally anyone else. There’s a reason that Sunny’s friends are so talkative. If you put two wordless, socially stunted weirdos in the same room, nothing ever happens.

“...N…ot about… what you say…” Mari’s ghost whispers. “...No one else can… get inside… Only him…”

Ah. Okay. He’s starting to see the larger picture. Sunny might be worse at talking than anyone else in this room—and that includes the sentient nightmare who can barely fit two words between a sea of ellipses. But he’s also the only one here who arguably is Omori. (A part of him. The rest of him? Whatever.)

“Okay,” he sighs. “I’ll try. But. I’m open to suggestions.”

###

Omori is holed up in what used to be Sweetheart’s Castle.

Not that Sunny has any idea what that means. Omori said something about “getting rid of it,” but… what? Even by Headspace rules, it’s a little hard to swallow. Weren’t there people inside? Sprout moles are one thing—their sentience is very much up for debate—but did Omori remember to flush Rococo out of the basement before wiping it out of existence?

…There’s only one way to find out.

Sunny turns to face the others. “Any ideas?”

Hero practically trips over himself in his haste. “I-I made some soup!!! It’s, um. It’s… the same kind Mari used to make.”

“...Tell him… I love him…” the phantom whispers.

Basil squeezes his eyes shut. “Tell him I miss him so much!!!! I— There’s no pressure, it’s okay if he still needs—but we just!! I don’t know what to do without him!!!”

“Tell him we’re pissed,” his shadow hisses. “He can’t keep pulling this shit. There’s a limit to how many times we’ll—”

“Shut UP!!!” Basil screeches. “You know that’s not true!! T-Tell him we’re— W-We’re not going anywhere!!!”

“...but… don’t fe…el any… pressure…” Mari’s ghost whispers. “…might not even… get inside…”

Sunny snickers. Cool. Got it. Very helpful.

He throws back the doors—

—and steps into his living room.

(No, Sunny reminds himself. Not his. Just a room, now. Just a room where he used to live.)

Omori’s hideout isn’t a palace or a prison. It’s just a normal room. Beige carpet. Beige couch. Beige walls papered over with photos, so so so many photos. School pictures and Christmases and family portraits from a shop that’s long since shuttered, all stiff stances and smiles with too many teeth. But afterwards they went to All Star Burger and Sunny got a milkshake for making it through the whole session without shutting down or crying. Mari got one, too, just for being Mari. She deserved a million milkshakes. Eighty more years of milkshakes, at least.

The stain on the carpet. The way the lamp always flickered, no matter how many times you tightened the bulb. Mari said it must be haunted. But when Sunny ran into her room crying, she didn’t yell or send him away. She just told him, gently, that ghosts are really only people. Just lost, lonely people. And when they act out, it’s not because they want to scare you. They’re just afraid of being forgotten. They just want one last chance to be seen.

Mari, Mari, Mari. Everywhere he looks, there’s so so so much Mari. Gap-toothed and beaming, holding out the stag beetle she caught all by herself. Standing stick-straight in front of the concert piano, prim and well-groomed and stiff with fear. Dancing. Laughing. Carrying her baby brother on her back even when her knees buckled. For years after Sunny should have been too old for it, Mari never minded carrying him home.

“What are you doing here?” a voice asks. His own voice, ten years out of date.

Sunny jumps. He’d almost forgotten why he came. “What are you doing here?” he counters, for lack of anything better.

Omori looks down at himself, then back up. “…Sitting?”

“Right. But. Why here.”

Omori rolls his eyes. “White Space isn’t ours anymore. I guess nowhere is. The others kept bugging me. I just want to be alone.”

Sunny frowns. “You hate being alone.”

“You hate being alone," Omori says dully. "I don’t know what I hate.”

…Oh.

“And anyway, I’m not alone.”

Sunny’s forehead furrows. He follows Omori’s gaze to the corner of the room, where there’s a heap of old laundry scrunched against the wall.

—No. Not laundry. Mari. Not as she was, but as she is. Dead gray flesh mottled with rot. Crumpled limbs stacked like kindling. Empty.

“I made this place,” Omori announces. “Like you made everywhere else. You made a million miles of light and life and I made one boring room. I couldn't even figure out the TV. I tried, but it’s only static.” He looks up at Sunny, stone-faced. “Did you put anything good in me at all?”

What is he supposed to say to that? “Your friends seem worried…”

“Your friends. I don’t have any friends. Just hand-me-downs.”

Maybe. “They’re still worried.”

Omori shrugs.

Sunny shifts his weight uneasily. Omori isn’t giving him very much to work with. “You’re—um. You’re… not having a good time.”

“No.”

Then why are you here? “Then…”

“Why did you leave?” Omori asks abruptly. The words short and sharp. “Everything was fine before you left. Kel was never busy, and Aubrey never picked on us. And Hero was happy. And Basil was always okay. And—” He digs his nails into the arm of the couch, forces the name through his teeth. “Mari was. Alive. Mari was alive and she was perfect. Everything was perfect.”

Yes. That’s true. Sunny remembers.

Omori’s face darkens. “I know you," he spits. "You can fool them, but you can’t fool me. I don’t care how many stupid piercings you get. Out there you’re pathetic. Just some loser shut-in freak who’s too afraid to be alone. You think because you can talk now, it means you’re doing fine? You’re not fine. You’re still a freak. And you’re still a murderer.”

Sunny nods. Why would he argue? It’s the truth.

“So—why?” Omori grits out. “Why go back there? Why would you even want to?”

Oh. Hm. It’s an interesting question.

Sunny takes his time, thinking it over. There’s no use trying to answer right away. A half-baked answer won’t do Omori any good, and it might upset him even more. You can’t just throw a slurry of wet flour in the oven. You have to give it time to rise.

…Why did Sunny go back? It wasn’t just that he was dying. He’d been dying for ages, for years and years and years. He knew he was dying and it didn’t scare him. He used to think about it sometimes. It sounded… peaceful. So it’s not as though he was running away from the dark. He must have been moving toward something.

A lot of it was Mari. Obviously. Always. Was it ever even a question? Mari was the catalyst for everything. She’s the one who taught him how to be a person, and then a decent person. Before her death and after. She crawled out of the grave to pound on his door and remind him to be brave.

But it wasn’t only Mari. It was just—everything.

Sunny opened the door and everything was different. Everyone was different. He’d stepped into the last act of a story that no one had bothered to tell him. His friends looked like strangers. Everything that should have been familiar felt alien and strange. There was so much that he didn’t understand. So why did he decide to stay?

Part of it was just concern. Love and fear and the guilt that blooms from the marriage of the two.

When he first laid eyes on Basil, Sunny didn’t even recognize him. Basil had always been brittle, but now he was broken. Bloodshot. All the meat chewed from his bones. He shuddered and twitched and his hands flinched around in violent little jerks, like a fledgling flung from the nest before it’s finished growing its pinions. Too weak to fly, but too afraid to die.

Basil moved like breaking glass. Like breaking bone. He looked at Sunny with a million words trapped under his tongue. Civilizations rose and fell behind his eyes. Comedy, tragedy, catharsis. What had made him like this? Could it really have been Sunny?

(No. Yes. Sort of. But Sunny didn’t know that yet. He wouldn’t find out till there was only one day left.)

But it’s not as though Sunny faced the truth for anything as noble as concern. Sunny is many things, but he isn’t noble. He’s pragmatic. Realistic. (Selfish.) He protects his friends because he loves them. He loves them because it makes him feel good. He knows that he’s nobody’s hero.

So it wasn’t only worry. He was curious, too. About Aubrey, especially.

Aubrey. Seeing her was a shock to his system, a lightning-strike straight to the brainstem. He’d remembered her fussy, unflinching. Brash, but not insensitive. Forceful, but never cruel. The girl he met in the park… It couldn’t be Aubrey. How could it be Aubrey? She was wild with hate. Her eyes burned coldest when glaring at him.

But Sunny had trusted Aubrey. She was his compass, his focus. The one he could trust to speak from the heart. Aubrey was true to the bone. What could have made her like this?

(Sunny, Sunny, Sunny. Everything she lost and kept losing, it was all because of—)

—But he’s getting carried away. And anyway, that can’t have been the reason. Sunny didn’t have to go outside to hate himself, or blame himself. He was doing a perfectly adequate job of that all on his own. So then, why?

Ohhh, he realizes. It’s because— “It was fun.”

Sunny confronted the truth—the searing torment of an unbearable reality—because he was having fun. Fun! While he was awake! When’s the last time that he could say that?

When Kel knocked on his door, Sunny was, truth be told, probably not taking very good care of himself. Not being altogether kind. He used to think that he liked himself well enough, when Mari was alive. And then she died, and Sunny realized it was only ever Mari. Mari had loved him, and Mari knew everything, so it stood to reason that he must have deserved it. He’d felt entitled to all kinds of kindness, when he was Mari’s little brother. But when she was gone—and after what he’d done—

And then he opened the door and Kel beamed at him like a living, breathing sun. Kel took him by the hand and drew him out into the light and then acted like Sunny was the one who’d done something amazing. He looked wildly different, a hundred feet taller and stronger and more beautiful, and somehow he still felt exactly the same. And hanging out felt exactly the same.

But everything else was so new! The town thronged with faces that Sunny’d never seen before, or that he’d known and then forgot. He walked up to a million strangers and made Kel do all the talking, just like he used to when they were small. And even though Sunny had spent the past four years rotting inside, somehow Kel had grown more confident than ever. He was just as utterly, instantly at ease as Sunny remembered.

You could make a sort of game of it. Pushing Kel’s buttons, pushing your luck. Pressing at the boundaries of his comfort zone to see where they would break. Of course Kel could find rapport with the anxious artist drawing landscapes in the park, or the boy on the bench with the dreamy green eyes. But what about those fashionable newlyweds lost in the throes of choice paralysis? Or the bearded old weirdo muttering to himself in the hardware aisle?

Sunny walked into the homes of total strangers just to see what Kel would say. He wasn’t doing it to hurt him. It was like Mari hiding spiders in Hero’s desk. It’s just so exciting, finding out what someone’s going to do. Never knowing what’s going to happen next.

“So that’s it?” Omori demands. “That’s why you left. Uncertainty? Surprise? You left because you wanted to lose control?”

Hm. Sunny wouldn’t have put it like that, but… yeah. Maybe, yeah. It sounds sort of right.

“But that isn’t fair!” Omori hisses, flaring hot. “You made me to protect you from change, and then you went and changed into someone who didn’t even want that!”

Sunny frowns. “Do you want to change?”

“No!!”

Hm. Maybe that was the wrong question. “Do you… want to want to change?”

“No!! Or—” Omori hesitates. “I—don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know if you could be here if I didn’t.”

…Hm.

“The others,” Omori says shortly. “They’re—different. From how you made them. They’re not just our friends anymore. They’re, like. People.”

(Ideally friends are people, but that probably won’t be very helpful right now.)

“It’s like…” Omori trails off. “Like they’re not bound by what happened. Or who they used to be. I don’t even know if Mari is our sister anymore, or if she’s just—” He slams one fist against the arm of the couch, burying his knife to the hilt in the faded upholstery. “I don’t know how to say it.”

Sunny knows how that is. “Just say whatever. Sometimes some of it is right.”

Omori lapses into silence, but Sunny knows how that is, too. He sits on the ground and waits.

A few minutes drift by before Omori opens his mouth. “…That story you told.”

Sunny blinks.

“About pissing yourself.”

Ah. Naturally.

Omori huffs a breath. “I don’t remember that.”

Well… of course not. When Sunny was in first grade, Omori didn’t exist.

“I’m supposed to be you,” Omori mutters. “Or, something that used to be you. A piece of you. Whatever. But I don’t even have any of your memories. I don’t remember growing up, or coming here or anything. I’ve been trying and trying, but the first thing I remember is just empty white. And a black hanging bulb. And hearing someone crying.”

Sunny frowns. “Do you want my memories?”

“No! I don’t know! I just want—anything! To know anything! What I’m supposed to be, or—who I’m supposed to…” He trails off. “I just want to know what I’m for.”

“I’m not sure people are for anything.”

“Maybe where you’re from,” Omori scoffs. “Not here. Anyway, I’m not a person.”

There’s a lot that Sunny doesn’t know, but that definitely doesn’t sound right. “You’re—”

“Don’t argue,” Omori spits. “I know what people are. They feel things, and grow, and—grow up. That’s why you left. Isn’t it? Because you wanted something real.”

Sunny hesitates. That’s probably true, but… it’s not the whole truth. But he doesn’t know how to say it.

Omori barks a laugh. “You made it so I couldn't change, and then you changed into someone who didn't want that. Not that I cared,” he adds, bitterly. “I still had my friends. But now they’re changing, too. And I thought… If I brought your stupid friends here and made them face themselves, like we did, then… maybe everything could go back to how it was. But it didn’t. They’re still changing. Everyone is changing, except me. Because that’s how you made me.” He bares his teeth, ablaze with sudden fury. “It isn’t fair! I hate you! I should hate you forever and ever! Till you die and ever after!”

For a second, Sunny is scared that he’s going to get stabbed again. But it only lasts a moment, and then Omori collapses back into his seat.

“After you left,” Omori says. Leaden, resigned. “I. Missed you. Isn’t that stupid? It’s not like you were good company. All you ever did was lay around and cry.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Sunny says quietly.

“Hah. Right. Of course you’d want me to be as pathetic as you. I’m just a memory. Just a scar over something that’s already healed. Being here probably feels nostalgic.”

That’s… not entirely untrue. But saying so would probably also not be very helpful.

“You threw me away and I can’t even hate you,” Omori says. “Or resent you, or—miss you. Because that’s not how you made me. And even if I could, I—” He has to force the words through gritted teeth. “—don’t. Want to.” He barks a laugh. “All you ever gave me was your ugliest, broken-est parts and I still won’t throw them away, because it’s—all I have left. Because I don’t want to lose you. Even after you threw me away.”

“I didn’t throw you away.”

“You—” Omori trips over his tongue. “—What?”

You can read the rest of the finale here: ao3.org/works/45213322/chapters/129661372

#omori fanfic #headspace au #omori spoilers #timeskip #omori sunny #omori #closure #no ships

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electrasev5nwrites · 2 years

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can you describe your creative writing process as someone with aphantasia? I'm interested in writing and lack art skills to visually flesh out characters (thus I rely on words)

the greatest challenges I possess that I ask how you get over:

Appropriate levels of description? Ie: what would someone who could probably use this info want.

How do I figure out these appearances? Personalities arnt hard to do but finding out appearance is hard..

Writing has became a much more difficult thing to do after learning I have aphantasia (or see the world differently) honestly my life isn't harder because of aphantasia its just different. It's like in more sad on things I may be missing out (even though most may not have crazy levels of visualization, it varies right?). It's very late for me and I may be delerious so if I'm a bit confusing or you want to add on whatever go ahead, even if I didn't ask it. Share your hearts desire.

I'd love to share.

I don't actually think that much about what a reader wants in terms of description. Appropriate levels of description, to me, is what you need to immerse into the scene. I tend to put myself into the character's place and think of what I would notice- the color of my sleeve when I pour a cup of coffee, the way that my fingertips flatten on the edge of the porcelain when I'm staring at it to avoid eye contact, using the steam to obscure the impatient face of whoever is waiting for my answer, my own reflection in the liquid, etc. I think that writing details as the character would notice them works well to blend them in organically without dumping description and also works well as a way to do some characterization! (what does this person notice? Are they pretty oblivious? Do they notice a lot of details? Do they get distracted when they do that and miss what someone says? Do they know the color of every car but the make of none? Are they unobservant because they're tired? Does someone else's body language or words hint that the POV character has missed something?) One of the main things I make sure to write in is body language and a little bit of action. Especially if a scene is dialogue-heavy, I make sure to give people something to do physically.

I think that most of the body language I write also comes from putting myself into a character's headspace. After I write their dialogue, I tend to find myself physically moving through the body language I'd use, and I do this deliberately as well if I look back and realize I need more detail. If someone is feeling defensive, I might find myself crossing my arms, leaning one way or another, fidgeting, or putting my chin up and smiling, if they're hiding that defensive feeling. This is also great for laying out characterization. Are they aware of how much they're telegraphing? Are they deliberately hiding their discomfort or whatever by using different body language? And how do they interact with the objects around them? Things like that.

I tend to be very sparse with character details, just because I'm not interested in it and can hardly remember what I picked. I dole them out nearly randomly and then just try to make sure I'm referencing the right set of adjectives when I bring that character back (who had the pointy face? Who had big eyes? Which was the guy with really long eyelashes?) I'd recommend keeping a cheatsheet like that whenever you introduce a character to refer back to later. Readers are going to wind up with different interpretations of those descriptions, but I think that's fine. The only thing that sucks if if I mix them up and that leaves the readers confused. I hope some of this is interesting and useful to you!

#writing advice #aphantasia

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skygent · 29 days

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Storytelling Moments That Will Stay With Me

Spoilers for ALL of Helluva Boss up to Apology Tour

This post is gonna be a little deeper and more negative than previous ones I’ve written previously. when it comes to stories I've reflected on.

If you’re in a bad headspace for one reason or another, maybe skip this one.

In case you haven’t heard, Helluva Boss follows a group of hit men who live in Hell and regularly get into all kinds of trouble on Earth and in their home: Hell.

Trailers and clips may give you the idea that it’s just a raunchy adult animated comedy in a similar strain to Rick and Morty but it’s far from just that.

It can have its serious moments and those serious moments do carry the weight and consequences that unfold across episodes.

Which yes it’s called a character arc, and no it’s not new or revolutionary, but I don’t see them done well in these types of shows.

Enter Blitzo (the O is silent), a hell-born Imp who is crass, abrasive, and extremely temperamental.

We could not be more different, but there is one key characteristic we share:

We both really do not like being ourselves, and our self esteem is so low it could be extracted from the Earth and used as a fossil fuel.

This all comes to ahead for Blitz during Apology Tour. An episode that illustrates how destructive Blitz's self hatred has been not for just for himself but for the people who once cared about him. All of which can be boiled down to a beautiful but still painful moment of self realization for Blitz:

“I don’t wanna be this way, not forever.”

It's a line that has stuck with me for the past few weeks, as things have been rough to say the least. Despite being back home after graduating from college, I have been wallowing in my own self hatred for sometime.

I was telling myself that I had peaked in college, that it was too late to do what I wanted to do with my life, that I was never gonna be as happy as I was in days past. I was sitting in my room even after I was done working for the day and just letting life go by. Resigned to letting myself be unhappy, because I thought I deserved it for not being good enough to do anything I wanted to do and that I was destined to be alone for it.

Thankfully, that dark patch passed recently. With my birthday coming up, comes a bit of somber milestone. This year, I will officially be a year older than my flight instructor ever got be after a fatal crash roughly two years ago.

One of the last times we spoke in person, he reminded me how important it was to take care of myself. When I realized that I hadn't been, it hit me pretty hard and I had to take a walk to sort my thoughts out.

By the end of that afternoon stroll, I found myself echoing Blitz:

“I don’t wanna be this way, not forever.”

So I am taking a step back and practicing being more mindful of where I am. How far I've come and what I've accomplished. Challenging those self-sabotaging thoughts and mindsets when they come up, and they still do come up. All while letting myself to feel things I've been trying to repress for sometime now, like the side of me that is hopeless romantic.

Sure it's scary, but some of the best things in my life happened because I decided to say fuck it and be brave.

I don't know what comes next, for me or Blitz.

Nothing is guaranteed for either of us at this point (particularly in the romance department) but then again, what in life is?

All we can both do is try to be better than we were yesterday.

So that in the future, we can be someone's someone. Someone that leaves us standing in the rain at a train station yelling:

"Harriet! Don't get on that train! It's going to London and I cannot be without you!"

Even if that's basically a rom-com, it doesn't sound all that bad does it?

That’s why Helluva Boss’s Apology Tour will be a storytelling moment that will stay with me.

#storytelling #helluva boss #personal #helluva boss blitz #romance #self love #self reflection

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krockat · 1 year

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hi i was randomly reading tags late at night on videos, and i saw yours you added onto https:// www dot tumblr dot com/krockat / 726501511214022656 a while back asking for the source of the music and not sure if you ever figured it out so apologies if you did, but its part of the ost from the anime black butler, not a game! but if someone did use it in a game i hope you find it too!

ouffh..... anon........

see... in that post in those very tags you speak of.. . I.. i did promise i would give plenty praise and love to those who would help solve my mystery.....

and you did nothing wrong anon.

you are a beacon of light, a shining example of a person just randomly going out of their way to be a nice little light-shedder-on-er-er, while prev just doing some'n simple n pleasurable (as pleasurable as the mixed crockpot of reading random strangers tags Can be) for themself.

but.. lemme tell you.... this is rough news.

to have a rare glance of something so similar to this great (i mean no, the quality of said game itself might be questionable, but a great soundtrack and alternative Weirdness and nostalgia of a seemingly never discussed old playstation game relic of my memory lossy past - it is despite it all quite great a) mystery -

it was so hopeful and enticing!

and then i learned.. and then i learned.. it was actually from my number one enemy-anime Black Butler!!

you see, black butler and I have history.

apart from it being a creepy show where two adult demons thirst for a child boy (that for some further context also had an unfairly banger ost that deep inspired my youth), it was, infact, and here comes an actual Real trigger warning for the content ahead:

warning you, here it comes! the tags will have what specific triggers this is about.

a tool used in grooming me.

so, while i really am grateful for your kind message and explanation - to find that this music that was so similar to what i remember from the soundtrack of the game - was actually from that show? Oh real unfortunate. just realllll unfortunate.

lemme tell ya when i woke up to read i got a notif w the beginning premise that someone had figured out this mystery song - meaning also maybe the coveted mystery game?

even barely awake and conscious as i was, and just really there initially wanting to check what time it was, because my alarm certainly hadn't called yet and the darkness seeping from my curtained window spoke of other promises -

and when then i ofc immediately opened that shit up and was left face to face with the reality of KROCKAT ENEMY-ANIME NUMBER ONE - ?

oh i knew it was gonna be a special kind of day.

so, sorry for no earlier reply but i was put into a certain state of reflection these last couple days.

and it's been interesting, actually

which might sound a tad bit morbid to those inclined,

but well you know us Aquarius Suns(TM) Hahoo - who often find morbid and sad stuff fun and entertaining to think about and toss and turn around like an old sausage in a corporate bodega hot revolver grill. just a lil interest in that

it actually got me to get into a creatory headspace. thinking about all that shit.

so yea pretty good now, but the first hour of gripping w that? yeah. idk how or that i would or could or would want to explain perhaps why or how or in what way that little fact did affect me.

but. you've still done me a great service. and i intend to make good on that reward i did promise whoever would solve my inquiry.

thank you you kind little folk! very very nice of you to come in to my ask and give me answers! you seem like a nice type.

...

but yes a post this long and involved (?) does got to have an end, and one useful trick to end things you don't know how to end is to put music at the end of whatever it is.

now, Best ending would be to have the music of the Actual game's ost i was talking about. but i still don't know what the game is.

Worst ending is probably just that bl*ck b*tler song that baited me (yes i am now "blurring" it out as this is the end part of the post that's meant to end as a reprieve)

and not to say that would necessarily be a bad way to end the post. hells, it might be the interesting (♒🌞) way to conclude this post.

but i think i will just leave you with this.

(sorry that it is a link to spotify. and that it is a from a corporate-y compilation album. and w songs i haven't vetted. i had no choice in what release it was. do you still like me)

(here also comes a youtube link. )

youtube

[image ID:

Black and white picture of Swedish jazz singer Monica Zetterlund - on a youtube thumbnail and link to a video upload of her singing the song "Att angöra en brygga".

end image ID.]

#tw grooming mention #tw csa mention #krockat answers anons #anti black butler #krockat krockar #idk how to tag black butler so ppl can block that tag - but not have fans of it have it in their tags n open myself up to shit from em.#also i rly don't know what my anon tags or asks tags are lol. i don't remember.#also haha to be clear with the astrology joke #- i like to use astrology as a for-fun personality test and sometimes day-to-day vibe advice for my own self. i am fine about it #and no i don't just laugh or schadenfreude at people's whatever else misery - more like that its often a stimulating topic and interests me #to talk w ppl about their shit. and of plenty at/w myself and my imagined blorgbos or whatever.#<writing that cause i know it's the internet and ppl like knife-at-throat-ing ppl when its a sport to assume the worst.#also to be clear - that video visually is just that still image. not of her performing the song. was unsure how or if i should word that in #the image ID. seemed too much.#oh shit now that i have written an image ID after already writing all these tags on mobile - damn it.#image described #also i am tired of this post and having it actually be any good now (which i dont think it is at this point) but idc.#better to just post the beast than not at this point. right #man these tags are too serious overall than what i did w the post. like I said. ♒🌞so to me it's fine to be silly w it #also the song I chose just cause it has a whimsy while also being very vibey and dreamy and jazzy. and there's inherent silly w its namesak #and also more specifically and esp because it's one of the main songs I've been listening to lately. so it's just a glampse into my state #i would explain the lyrics (them being in swedish and all) at a request. otherwise this posts just too long and idc :D #att angöra en brygga #monica zetterlund #my music tastes #long post #also yea i didn't give anon the full promised compliment hoard or wtvr tf I said in those og tags - but i just wasn't feeling it!#you gotta match the vibe of who you're talking to - right. what point is there to just ham it and no one wants to have ham at the table.

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alrightbuckaroo · 1 year

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16 and 25 :D

Hi there! :D

16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?)

I've been trying to change the tone of my imagery when it comes to the Old West AU, actually! I feel like my summer romance fic is pretty standard for what I normally write, but with the Old West AU, I'm trying to have more grit and "dated" verbiage. For example:

Carlos interjects, his statement falling in between Price’s statement like a penny does a crack.

I don't know, maybe it's the same as usual hahah

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

I don't know if this is going to make sense, but I really love getting into the "aesthetic" headspace of it all. I'll be on Pinterest for hours if I'm not careful.

Like, to me, the aesthetic of come and take a walk on the wild side, is sleek and dramatic and a little dark so I try to put that in my writing. The Old West AU is gritty and rustic, the Parisian Summer is soft and hazy.

I just like consuming all the aesthetics I like and trying to reflect that in my writing.

ask me about my writing meta!

#hope your day is going well michelle :)#asked and answered

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dzpenumbra · 1 year

Text

6/9/23

Weird headspace today. I rested well, yoga was good. But I had therapy today.

It didn't go bad. I'm just... in a weird headspace now, reflecting on it. And I don't even really know why, honestly.

A big portion was talking about the doctor's appointment and my elevated cholesterol. Which is really weird to say out loud. I really don't know where that came from. We talked about that for a while. I used to eat a LOT of fried food and eggs and meat and shit. And I smoked for like... 15 years? And then 2 years after I quit smoking and clean up my diet, now I have elevated blood pressure and cholesterol? That makes sense... Though, I did mention that like... I've been pretty sedentary since I moved. (Which isn't entirely true, honestly, I was skating pretty regularly in winter and I have been going for walks at least once a week since it's been warm...) But what's really indisputable is the extra stress. That could do it. But again, I don't know shit about this, so... I can only really guess.

It frustrates me because I really have been trying to be good with my diet lately, not just economically but nutrition-wise too. It was weird to me that, of all the things that I mentioned from my list of stuff I eat... including pizza and cheese quesadillas... it was yogurt and granola that he focused on as being not that healthy. I couldn't really tell what to make of that, I really thought that was a healthy meal...

So yeah, I kinda need to overhaul my menu. I just... don't know what to get. Because I don't really know what in my diet is unhealthy and, more specifically, how it is. So yeah, that's frustrating.

Meanwhile... yeah, I've gained weight but like... okay. Let me put this into perspective. Okay... I just googled my weight and height and... I guess I am technically overweight. This is hard for me to process, honestly. I have always been shit on for being small, for being skinny, and being accused of being underweight. And I'm really not that visibly overweight at all. At least I don't think I am. I guess yoga just isn't enough. I guess it's more stretching and mind-body connection than exercise. Hmm...

I miss hiking the trails. I miss exploring the woods. I love that form of exercise. It never felt like exercise. I still have skating, I'm just insecure, honestly. When I was at the park last, I was really self-conscious and kinda kept to myself. At the park in my old town, I would usually have the park to myself, and snowskating was always solo. I don't know, I don't like going to the gym when I can actually be doing a practical form of exercise... but I'm getting tempted. But honestly, isn't skating the most reasonable solution here? The park is not that far away, I can ride my electric board there. I just... need to get over my anxiety and just say fuck it and go.

Ugh, I'm just really feeling... like a fuck up, honestly. Like I let my life go. Like... I moved here and lost a ton of things that were keeping me surprisingly stable as far as physical health goes. The trails at the river right around the corner, being the centerpiece. But I really have to remind myself... staying there was not an option... the walls were literally collapsing.

So yeah, I guess I'm kinda hitting a wall of depression there. And I really feel for people who have dealt with similar stuff their whole life. And I honestly wonder how big a role cigarettes played in delaying this.

So far, the forms of exercise I have on my list are skate and go for a walk. And I've been doing the walk at least once a week. Ugh. The more I talk about this, the more I just feel like a fuck-up. It's so frustrating. And I am the only one calling myself that. I need to move on. I have a plan, I just need to bypass this fucking social anxiety. It has such a fucking death-grip on me right now, it's causing so many problems.

Why the fuck do I care what judgmental 20 year olds think? I used to not give a fuck what anyone thought. And then realized that... not caring about others' feelings is... insensitive... Now I care too much about the stupid opinions of assholes. Seriously, why the fuck am I giving weight to the opinion of some college kid on summer break who's judging me for being in my late 30's and not being good at skating. For trying to fucking learn and get comfortable on the damn thing. Why do I fucking care?! Do I judge when I see a young woman trying to learn noseslides on a curb and failing horrendously? No... They're fucking learning.

I wish I could just brush it off and move on. Speaking of, I want to move on past this.

A big part of my session was the thing I went over last night... that I think I finally had a way of putting into words. That the fearful mentality that I had on my walk in the woods the other day? Where I thought I was gonna get jumped? That is something that both of my parents have in spades. And I shared a story, originating from a Wired article I read this morning about the Anthrax letter scare back in 2001, and the FBI investigation into it. And my reflection and connection to my life was... I remember vividly that year was going to be my last Halloween as a young teen. My friend Nick and I were going to dress as members of the band Mudvayne and go trick or treating. And we were definitely a bit old for that, we were both in high school, but we just really wanted an excuse to dress up in costumes and have fun, honestly. He was going to dress as the singer and I was going to dress as the bassist. And my mom flipped shit and insisted that we could not go, because she was afraid that someone was going to put anthrax in our candy. Legit. And I'm gonna level... we didn't live anywhere near any place that got those letters. But yeah, the fear is strong in my family. And that story really started to make things click for him. And I made sure to emphasize that it was worse with my father.

Now, the worst part about this is it is likely both a genetic component... and a trauma component. On both sides of the family. And actually seeking help with that could've helped monumentally for anyone in the chain, at any time. It's why I'm doing it. And I literally devote my entire life to it, and it still doesn't feel like enough sometimes.

So... he's starting to get a bigger picture of what's going on here. That my struggles are not just situational - stage of life, dealing with recent loss and traumas, being in a very difficult career in a society that doesn't treat it like a "real job", being in a city alone for the first time after a long time in rural areas - but it's also the social environment I was raised in, the way I was trained to think, and likely a genetic component to top it off. Given all that, I am shocked with how well I've been doing.

And honestly, I need to be gentler to myself. With everything I've been through, of course I'm going to struggle. I'm just... frustrated with how this big stuff leaks into the little stuff. Like... with how much big stuff I have to stress over and worry about, you'd think that would give me clear perspective that the little stuff isn't even worth sweating over. But for some reason... it's just not like that. And that frustrates me. Because my life would be so much easier if I could just remind myself "hey, remember... you don't give a shit what some judgmental kid at the skatepark thinks. You don't give a shit what some person at the gym thinks, side-eyeing you. You're there to work on you. Let them have their judgment. And focus on you." I can say it over and over and over, but it's really hard to actually act on it. At least lately.

I have exercise equipment in my building. I can go and like... ride a stationary bike or something. I used to do that back in the day. It is an option. I just don't like the idea of it. It feels like work, it feels like a chore. Where the real thing is like an adventure.

So yeah, if it wasn't obvious... inner conflict is really strong right now.

What my therapist recommended was taking like 10-15 minutes before going out wherever I'm planning on going out and just... meditating. Finding stillness. So I can actively try to release that feeling, let it dissipate a bit, which I have clearly identified is a nervous system reaction that is overreacting. Just doing a relaxation exercise thing to just center myself a bit. Then go. And it's a good idea. In order to make it work reliably, I need something I look forward to, and I have to have it readily accessible. ... It might be time to make a new necklace. A mala that I'm actually going to use. My other one, it's cool as shit but... it's too big to be a bracelet and too small to be a necklace. It's a perfectly awkward sized. If I have one that's necklace sized, it'll work, because it'll be around my neck every day.

That sounds like an actionable plan. I will make a mala with what I consider a reasonable amount of beads on it. Enough for me to lose myself in breathing a bit, but not so many that it feels like an overwhelming chore. My last one felt like a few too many for me. And I'll wear it every day, I'll build that ritual, and when it's time to do something? Something I feel anxious about? I'll take a seat, start deep breaths and use the mala to track them. And at the end, I'll be good to go. And we'll see how much that improves my anxiety.

I'm frustrated. At the beginning of the year, I was so excited to have my electric board, I couldn't wait to get outside and ride places. Now? I haven't touched the thing in months. So... how about... I try my best to get to the skatepark within the next few days. My immediate reaction is "ugh but it's the weekend". I have to stop letting that get in the way.

I feel lame right now. The guy who wrote stream of consciousness albums, who made an entire artistic process around writing in pen and never crossing a single word out... is insecure about being bad at skateboarding. I just... am really struggling to let go of caring about that. So... let me ask it... why do I care about those opinions? Because I want to make friends? I guess? I don't expect to impress people with my ability level... I'm actually visibly squinting and trying to figure out why I actually give a shit!

Oh crap, it must be trauma-related. I'm starting to pick up whiffs of that. It feels like... like the root is something close to shame. And if it's one thing I've learned in my many years of studying trauma work, shame is a huge indicator of trauma. This definitely feels like shame is part of it. Maybe I'm just... avoiding the feeling of shame entirely, because shame reminds me of engaging with trauma. Oh... oh that's not good.

No, I really can't have that. I need to be able to fuck up in a video game on a live stream. I need to be able to hit a "wrong note" when improvising in front of a crowd. That's a very important quality that's been slipping away.

So... it's doubly important for me to go to the skatepark, or even to the gym. Not just for the exercise, but to make sure that doesn't take root any more than it has.

Ugh, I don't want to do this anymore. One fucking physical and it feels like my whole life is fucked and out of whack and it's gonna take monumental effort to get it back on track, and now I'm legit having anxiety/heartburn chest pains, trying to talk myself out of thinking it's a heart problem. I need to chill and wind down.

I'm just going to do tarot to get my mind off this. Therapy is great, I have a plan, I've learned a lot, but god fucking damn can it be intense.

Past - III: The Empress (Progression, creation, birth, growth.) Present - Nine of Pentacles, inverted (Self-reliance, goals achieved. Confidence and satisfaction knowing your work is done.) Future - Four of Wands, inverted (Stability, a sense of completion. A major milestone, taking a moment to reflect on accomplishment so far, before moving to a new future.)

Adding in my personal history experience with these symbols was pretty tricky tonight. Especially with Four of Wands.

This thread starts with The Empress - a fertility symbol. Not just literally but intellectually and spiritually. She is mother nature, she is growth and creation incarnate.

The symbol of the Empress is connected to... inverted Nine of Pentacles, which is... a blockage in feeling my work is done. A struggle to reach a sense of satisfaction and completion, and be able to focus on myself a bit.

And this is connected to... inverted Four of Wands - a blockage or delay in reaching landmarks in life, and the sense of accomplishment that comes with that. A new job that you love. A birthday party. A wedding. Shit like that. A major life event that you take a moment to celebrate because life is going to be different now. That's all kinds of clogged up.

So... I get the Nine of Pentacles and Four of Wands connection, that's super apparent to me. Not being able to feel satisfaction or accomplishment, and the confidence and peace that comes with that? That definitely interferes with my ability to reach milestones in life. Because I never stop working. I hit a goal and then I just transition into the next one, it's a never-ending treadmill. What I'm struggling with is seeing how the Empress comes into play. I mean... she's the source of creativity... and these accomplishments... they all feel like they revolve around creativity. So, maybe it's just a guidepost for that. So, my creativity is the source and focus of this. And my inability to really appreciate and process my achievements and really... draw in that sense of accomplishment and confidence... leads to instability and a lack of progression in other aspects of my life. Hmm... Yeah, that does make sense.

Welp, on that note... I noticed that I didn't even mention one fucking time here the massive amount of work I did on my new abstract piece. Let me nerd out on that before bed real quick, get these vibes fixed up for us. I had been stumped for a bit on how to illustrate the "membrane" structures forming in between the bubbles. If you're out of the loop, the piece I'm working on is a fractal piece, so it's like... picture organic circle shapes that I'm calling "bubbles"... then inside each bubble are an array of smaller bubbles... and inside those, the same deal. What is left between the bubbles I call the "membrane". So... I wanted to add a texture for the membrane, but I didn't know what to do. But I had some ideas. So I actually went and got my little cheap-ass portable microscope to go look at my dried orchid flowers I have on my windowsill. But the magnification was too low to see any kind of cells, it was a long shot anyway... I wanted to study plant cells, and make shapes and textures inspired by those patterns. So... Google came to the rescue. And I spent a good chunk of time learning about xylem and phloem and shit like that. Different types of cells. I didn't go too in-depth, though it really is fascinating and I would love to learn more. I was more interested in the shapes and structures of them, which happened to look very similar to the type of designs I've been making. And after studying a few pictures, I was very inspired and started to just start drawing... and I ended up filling in almost 1/3 of the membrane on the zoom layer I'm working on. I say zoom layer because the membrane is also going to be fractal... somewhat... As in, the membrane will be inside the bubbles too, but at a proportionately smaller size. It looks very good so far and I'm excited to see how it turns out when it's done.

See... I went from saying "I don't wanna be the guy who draws one damn thing" and in my defiance... I ended up making 2 necklaces, a painted skull, 10 ink pieces and a gigantic 10,000x10,000 px piece all in the same organic theme. XD

The big takeaway from all of this? I need to chill. XD

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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jamesholden · 2 years

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all the conversations say i should feel a way

fandom: Mass Effect (ME1) relationship: Sionainn Shepard/Kaidan Alenko (fShenko) rating: T, to be safe tags: Late Night Conversations ; Plus-Sized Shepard ; Fluff ; Pre-Relationship ; In-Game Dialogue ; Flirting author's note: Posting in full on my blog rather than just a link—my first full fic for my new Shep Sionainn and Kaidan! I was feeling down and let myself get back into Mass Effect. Specifically making a Shepard that reflected me as much as possible, using her and stories about her to work through my own stuff and see myself differently, inspired by the DAI's embracing of Plus Sized Inquisitors and the works of Olivia Dade. She's romancing Kaidan, and you can see what she looks like/a picture of what I imagine her body shape to be here. I wanted to play with Kaidan's "cutting corners" discussion and get into their headspaces. I hope to have more soon! Please enjoy, and leave a review on ao3 if you can! also posted to: ao3

It was a pretty normal occurrence.

When she had too much to do, or lost herself in all she had to do, Sionainn Shepard forgot to eat. Time would slip through her mind, through her fingers. One moment would blink away two hours. She should have been a few hours deep into a sleep cycle by now, but compiling and writing up reports for the Council and the Alliance meant late nights. And late nights with too much work meant missed meals.

Wasn’t she lucky then, that the mess was just outside her cabin? The perks of promotion she supposed. There were other perks to the location of her new quarters. But those reasons would be deep into the sleep cycle she should be enjoying. The snacks were all that mattered.

Sionainn stretched as she padded out into the crew deck, cool air hitting the shoulder bared by the crooked collar of her oversized shirt. Sure, she was technically on duty, but there was no reason she couldn’t do reports in her pajamas if no one was going to see. At least she’d pulled her boots on over her leggings to protect her socked feet from the deck below. She was proper. If any crew members did wander by, who was going to question the Commander, the Spectre? Or, question her seriously?

The mess area was deserted. Everyone on duty was working. Good for her. No questions to answer and no eyes to draw. She had enough hang ups about food without being poked and prodded for raiding the supply in the middle of her night cycle. All she needed was something easy, a snack and a drink, and she could run back to her cabin to finish the night’s work.

She worried a nail with her teeth as she looked over her options. There were plenty. They had just left the Citadel, heading out to pull another favor for Hackett before making their way to Feros. A restock had been good for morale. She’d heard some of her marines complaining about the lack of variety in their protein bars, and having snuck one herself, she understood the discontent. She’d made sure that in addition to the dextro foods they’d need for her guests, they had more flavor for the human crew too. At the thought, Ashley’s coy smile flitted through her mind.

“Marines were complaining, or the marine was complaining?”

Snorting to herself, Sionainn felt her cheeks warming. Maybe she’d heard him allude to craving chocolate chip, maybe she didn’t. Plenty of her crew were complaining. Not just him. But if it made him happy too… Well. It was always a plus to be on the head of the marine detachment’s good side, wasn’t it? Ashley would be grateful if her commanding officer was happy. It meant less grunt work motivated by grump. Enough dallying. Grabbing a chocolate chip protein bar, a bottle of water, and a packet of what appeared to be some sort of fruit snacks, Sionainn shut the cabinet.

And nearly jumped out of her skin when the closed door revealed a looming body she hadn’t heard approaching.

“Jesus God,” Sionainn choked, hand full of snacks flying to her chest.

“Shep—Commander. God, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—I thought you heard me coming.”

Her heart skipped a beat. It was as if she summoned him, just by thinking of him. Glancing to her side confirmed it was him. Lieutenant Alenko. Kaidan. Looking sweetly concerned and just as casual in his own sleepwear. Calming her breathing—and the warmth his mussed hair brought to her chest—Sionainn managed a smile.

“Must have been a cat in another life, Alenko.”

It took him a moment to realize she was okay, to relax himself. Kaidan chuckled, a low rumble she’d come to love hearing. “That’s funny, my mom used to say the same thing.”

“Oh, so you have a history of giving people heart attacks. I feel like that’s something you should disclose to your CO. Or at least the medical officer on board. So we know who to blame when a marine sporadically collapses.”

“I guess Anderson didn’t pass on the intel. My mistake.”

“That’s a pretty serious lapse, Lieutenant. I might not be as forgiving next time.”

“Then I’ll be sure to not let it happen again. Ma’am.”

Sionainn tried to hold back her widening smile. Especially as a smile grew on his own face. Banter like this was easy between them. It had surprised her. She’d barely been able to talk to him when they met. He was so respectful it nearly chafed her. Deference wasn’t something she knew what to do with. That, and she could barely look at him without her heart racing. Now, with a few missions under their belt and conversations had, she’d like to think they were friends. Or, as friends as they could be, with her as his commanding officer.

Or, as friends as they could be when she was doing a terrible job of hiding her crush on him in spite of swirling rumors that he was “sweet on” someone else. He was just… so kind to her. It was hard not to want to be his friend. Hard not to want to be more.

But the regs. Her body. Her past.

Realizing they’d just been standing there, smiling at each other for what felt like forever, Sionainn let her gaze fall on the empty mess. “So… come here often?”

Smooth. Kaidan blinked, almost as if processing her question. When he did, he laughed again, leaning his hip against the counter. “Only when I’m hungry. Or bored.”

Sionainn mirrored him. “Which is it tonight?”

“Hungry,” he declared with a nod. “I was helping Tali decrypt some data we found and lost track of time. I ate dinner but, you know. Biotic.”

She hadn’t served closely with many biotics, and didn’t get a chance to ask questions about their abilities even when she did. Kaidan, on the other hand, had told her plenty between elevator rides, Mako drives, and waiting on the Citadel. His metabolism had been one of the easier things to talk about after she and Ashley ribbed him for eating lunch twice while in the Wards. She’d felt bad for teasing, but he’d been patient and kind as he told them. And he got them back later when he was the one who found the lone keeper they needed for their scans.

Stepping away from the counter, Sionainn waved her snack-laden hand toward the cabinets. “Far be it from me to keep you from your sustenance, Alenko. Have at it.”

“How generous.”

She shifted on her feet as he did as she had done, looking over his choices. Part of her wanted to stick to the mission, to return to her room and get back to work. But the thought of being in Kaidan’s presence, even for a moment longer, was winning it out. They didn’t have much private time. And his company was always welcome. Supposing she could see what he did and go from there, Sionainn stayed in place.

After a moment, Kaidan looked back at her, let his gaze drift to her own small haul. He snorted. “Chocolate chip, huh? You have good taste.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard someone say it’s the most tolerable. Actually I think he said ‘better than tolerable’.”

He paused, and her stomach dropped. “Huh. I did. Could have sworn I said that to Joker, though. Didn’t realize you were listening, too.”

She cursed herself. Letting slip that she was listening to him talk to other crew members wasn’t on her flirting agenda for the evening. Stupid hunger brain. “Yeah, well. I take my snacking very seriously. Any review is slotted into my memory bank for further analysis.”

He hummed, searching her face. Sionainn resisted the urge to gulp. Finally, he nodded to himself. “Noted. I’ll be sure to submit my next one officially, so it gets filed properly. You haven’t lived until you’ve had lemon, you know.” At least he didn’t seem to take it badly. Small victories. Kaidan turned back to the cabinet. “Well. You’ve inspired me, Commander. I’ll have what you’re having.” He snagged the exact same items she’d taken before shutting the cabinet and turning to her with a warm smile. “Care for some company?”

Decision made. The reports could wait. And she could tolerate the mess chairs that pinched her hips a little it it meant conversation with him. “I’d love some.” She nodded to the table behind them, and he followed her lead.

They ate their protein bars in companionable silence, the texture too dense to have conversion between bites. In a way, she was grateful that he was here. After Therum, she’d wanted his thoughts on the mission. His insight was always a surprise, and helped her think a little outside her own box. But he’d been laid out with a migraine between the escape from the ruins and the Geth, and she’d been buried in reports and getting Liara settled. This was the first time they’d been alone since that sweltering place. She polished off her bar and chugged down half her water.

Kaidan spoke before she could even formulate how to ask him anything. “Been wanting to sit down with you for a few days, actually, Shepard.”

“‘Shepard’, huh? That’s the second time tonight.” Sionainn teased, tearing into her fruit snacks. “Someone’s off his game. That’s not the appropriate way to address your commanding officer, Lieutenant.”

Kaidan blushed. Actually blushed. His gaze fell to the wrapper of his protein bar. She would have felt bad for calling him out like that, if not for the pounding of her own heart. What could that mean? Kaidan blushing at her teasing.

“Sorry, ma’am. Maybe I got a bad signal.”

“You didn’t.” It came out in a rush. Kaidan’s eyes snapped back to her face, widened, and Sionainn felt her own cheeks warm. Now her gaze fell down to the spread in front of her. Diffuse. She did the first thing that came to mind: flicked a fruit snack at him. It bounced off his sternum. As Kaidan blinked, processed what she’d done, Sionainn coughed. “I was… teasing you, Alenko. Shepard is fine.” Better, even. Closer.

He was still blinking at the grape gummy she’d flung at him. By inches, the tension she’d accidentally created melted from his brow, his shoulders, and he laughed. A soft sound that could have been mistaken for a sigh.

“Yes, ma’am—uh… Shepard. Anyway.” He picked up the gummy and tossed it back at her. Sionainn’s responding laugh was louder, and made Kaidan smile wider. She wanted to make him smile like that more often. “We just don’t have a lot of downtime these days. I like being around you, but I don’t want to take up too much of your personal time.”

I like being around you. Sionainn could have swooned. Instead she popped the gummy he’d thrown back at her in her mouth. Gave herself a moment to put her Alenko-addled brain together.

“I always make time for my officers. Never worry about taking up my time. What’s on your mind?”

“We’ve played it pretty close to the book so far. But we’re a long way from back up. We’ve got some tough calls to make.” It had been a relief that she hadn’t had to make any yet. Knock on… well. There was no wood to knock on here. But they would come, eventually. Not something Sionainn was looking forward to. These people were in her care. Tough calls meant possibly choosing which of them she sacrificed, and she wasn’t ready to consider it yet. Kaidan took a breath, ran his finger tips up and down his water bottle. “I’m just saying… try to leave yourself a way out. I’ve seen what cutting corners can do to someone. And I’d hate to have that happen to you, Shepard.”

Sionainn cocked her head. Had she… had she done something? Cutting corners… was there a call she’d made that had been too easy because she made it so? They hadn’t been working together too long, really. Every call ran through her mind, every decision. She couldn't think of a single thing. Kaidan must have read something in her face, before she could even ask what he meant.

“I’m not questioning any decisions you’ve made, let me be clear about that,” he assured her, raising his hands. She relaxed. She looked to Kaidan for approval more than she wanted to admit, like she did all the people serving under her who had more years in the service. She wanted to know that she was doing right by them. That she was making them proud. Something about Kaidan though—be it his experience, his level head, his observations, what have you—made her seek it out more than she had from anyone else. Kaidan barreled on. “It’s just my experience that once someone lets something slide, it tends to pick up speed. You get my meaning?”

Maybe? “Talk to me, Alenko. You’ve got a little black rain cloud over your head.”

He snorted. Levity taken well. Good. Whatever he had to say couldn’t be more serious than what he’d said before. “I’ll try to keep the deck dry.” He searched her face, opening his mouth and closing it, pursing his lips and looking down at his hands again. She waited. When Kaidan met her eyes, he took a deep breath. “You do that often? Skip meals?”

His question wasn’t one she expected, for all the hesitation. Most people didn’t hesitate to comment on her eating habits. Or… well. They didn’t comment on her missing meals. Hesitation struck her too. She shifted in her seat. “Not on purpose. I just lose track of time when I focus on a project.” Normally she’d make a crack about loving food, but something Kaidan’s gaze kept the self-deprecation at bay. “Hours go by like minutes and I catch myself sneaking out of my bunk for a snack so I don’t go to bed hungry. You know?”

“Hm.” Kaidan nodded slowly, taking a peek down at her little pile of wrappers and uneaten fruit snacks. Far from the meal she’d missed, just enough to take the edge off. Definitely not enough to sustain a biotic in place of a full meal. “Not good for you, you know. Not eating.”

The sentiment struck her right below the ribs. For years, all she’d heard was that maybe she should eat a little less. A suggestion that stung, given her plates were rarely much bigger than anyone else’s. It always went to show how little the people around her understood her body or even really cared about her health. That they knew every ounce of food she put in her body and that it should be less. But Kaidan… there was something about him worrying that she ate at all rather than what or how much that took her by surprise. And comforted her. Other than Chakwas, no one had treated her like that. Not since her nan.

She wasn’t sure how to explain to him how much that meant to her. How much hearing echoes of her grandmother in this man made her feel safer in his company. Not yet. So she just smiled shyly at him. “Spoken like a true Sentinel.” Always looking out for the health of his team. Even if the team member he was looking out for was another field medic.

He smiled, fingers toying with the wrapper of his vanished protein bar. He didn’t call her out on the deflection. A relief. Talking about how she’d been treated over the years was never an easy conversation. “Spoken like a friend.”

Sionainn’s heart both fluttered and dropped. A friend? It was enough, but… was that it? She tries to push the upset down, focus on the warmth his concern and care brought her. She smoothed her hands over her plush thighs, watched the movement and let it calm her. “That what we are? Friends?”

“I know I’d like us to be.” His words caused the fluttering to intensify, lifting her gaze back to his and her heart back out of her stomach. For now.

“I’m still learning how to have those.” Relationships had always been hard for her. She would miss a message here or there, or grow attached to one person and bother them until they were fed up. They wanted something different, or assumed she didn’t want in on what they were doing. She didn’t know how to tell people what she wanted. She was too afraid to open up. When you’re already judged for how you look, what you weigh, sometimes you don’t want to also be judged or mocked for how you feel or think or spend your free time or eat or… well, anything. All this insecurity on top of people seeing through her or only seeing the recruitment poster. But the Normandy, so far, was different.

She’d been fostering connections between her ragtag crew. She found it easier to connect with Tali and Garrus—and whatever Wrex was giving—than most humans. Maybe the lack of understanding of what made her stand out had something to do with it. Not facing their judgment. But she found herself enjoying Joker and Ashley’s company just as much. So she tried harder than she had before. She was happier for it. She hoped to call Liara a friend soon, too. And Kaidan. Kaidan was just a special case.

Kaidan hummed. “Me too.”

Sionainn thought back to what she’d heard about Kaidan when they’d first launched on the Normandy. That he didn’t have many friends, kept to himself. That it seemed a lot of his peers kept their distance. His service record read almost the same. Exemplary soldier, but solitary. All those years bouncing from station to ship, never getting to take the time to make real connections, even if he could. If he wanted to. It made her chest ache, thinking how lonely he could have been. Could still be.

That was something she could fix. Foster his connections with the crew, too. Foster their connection.

“We could learn together? Maybe.” Because even if he was only her friend, Kaidan saw her in ways no one else did. Saw what made her special outside of her heroics, her achievements. He took time to get to know her. To tease her and care for her. Who wouldn’t want someone like that in their life? His looks and the way he made her feel were just bonuses.

“I’d like that very much, Commander.” At her raised eyebrow, he laughed. “Shepard.”

She was sure her smile was bright enough to light the crew deck. Or at least bright enough to make Kaidan smile wider. They went back to their snacks, polishing off their gummies and waters. But neither moved once finished. Kaidan pulled up his omnitool, fiddling with something or other. She watched him. Watched the shadows play on his face. His handsome face. His troubled face.

“Hey, Lieutenant?” He glanced back up at her, eyebrows raised in question. Her mouth quirked. Boy, he was cute. “I still see that storm cloud. You want to talk about whatever else is thundering in that head of yours?”

It didn’t quite get the reaction she wanted. Sure, he shut down his omnitool, relaxed back into his seat. But there was no smile, nothing to show he noticed her pulling out the same joke. Instead he sighed, ran a hand down his face. And she saw he was just as tired as she was.

“You know the records about the biotic training on Jump Zero? They’re all classified. Because the Alliance made mistakes.”

Sionainn listened closely as he described those early days of the Alliance’s… Conatix’s biotics development. Sure, she’d served with biotics, but none of them talked about the history of human biotics like Kaidan did. They were all pride and bluster. Power and evolution. And based on Kaidan’s age and his implant, she could guess it had to do with what came between his training and hardware and theirs.

Cutting corners. Kaidan’s explanation of Conatix unfolded and pieces started to fall into place. Shady deals and shortcuts to get results. Going with Turians over Asari. Secrets and lies. Kids, kids with dangerous abilities and little control over them caught in the middle of the Alliance’s race for galactic legitimacy and a corporations’ bottom line. No wonder Kaidan wasn’t like the younger biotics she trained alongside.

Whatever happened there changed everything after Kaidan.

After answering what questions she’d had, Kaidan shifted back into his own history. “They brought in an ex-military Turian named Commander Vyrnnus.”

Sionainn raised an eyebrow. Being a spacer brat, she knew plenty of ex-military Turians. Often not good for a laugh, and double not good when it came to humans. Their former enemies. “Can’t imagine that went smoothly.”

“Well, to introduce himself he liked to say,” Kaidan cleared his throat before dropping his voice an octave and somehow adding more gravel to it. ‘I was at the helm of the dreadnought that killed your father.’”

She tried to hold back a laugh, she really did. But the impression rang through her head and she couldn’t help the shocked sound she let out. She covered her mouth and Kaidan’s serious face cracked as he smirked. “Sorry,” she whispered, as if her laugh had broken something. Or woke someone up. “Didn’t expect that. Sounds like a real hoot, that guy.”

“It’s okay. It’s one of my… easier memories of BAaT.” He shifted forward again, resting his forearms on the table and putting himself closer to her. Sionainn felt herself lean closer in response. “I told him my dad wasn’t in the war. He’d retired to Vancouver. My family had an inland home that matured to new beachfront.”

Oh? She filed that thought away for later. She could tease him about his family’s real estate later when he wasn’t opening up to her. “I’m sure that went over real well. You shattering his illusion.”

Kaidan’s eyebrows raised in agreement, and he pursed his lips to keep from smiling wilder. It was a good look on him. Hell. Almost anything was. But then the moment was over. Sighing, he let the smirk melt away, his gaze drop to his hands. He folded, then studied them nearly as hard as he did that damn panel he was always working on. “Yeah. Vyrnnus had it in for me after that. He cut corners. Pushed hard. I mean, you either came out a superman or a wreck. And a lot of kids snapped. A few died.”

He fell silent, the weight of his words settling on the both of them like the ashes of Eden Prime had, but heavier. Kids died. Because of this Turian. This corporation. The Alliance. Sion felt a touch sick. Kaidan… he’d watched kids his own age get hurt. Break. Die. But you didn’t die, Kaidan. Does that make you a superman? Or did what happen wreck you in ways you haven’t let me see yet? The weariness, the distance in his gaze made her believe that both were true. That the latter was especially true. And her heart ached for him.

Sionainn’s gaze fell on his hands. On how close both their hands were. She thought about reaching over, touching him. She wasn’t sure how often he talked about this, given how topical it was. If comfort was something he wanted for it. Or from her. In the end, it didn’t matter. Kaidan snapped out of his reverie with a sharp breath, and a startled glance back up at her. As if he’d forgotten why he was saying all this. That she was even there.

Sitting back, Kaidan rubbed at the back of his neck, cheeks coloring a touch. Sionainn mourned their close proximity, if only for a moment. “The point of all this—I guess— is that when you cut corners, it’s not always obvious who pays for it.”

When Conatix, when the Alliance, when Vyrnnus cut corners, kids paid for it. Kids that were just names and numbers and stats on a datapad. Sionainn dampened her own anger. Kaidan was telling her this for a reason. She toyed with the sleeve of her shirt.

“I think I get it. I don’t take care of myself, chances are that someone else gets hurt. But what happened there… it sounds horrible. Is there…” Her voice trailed off, and she offered up her palms instead of anything I can do. Because there wasn’t. She was already listening, what else did she have to offer? He looked between her face and her hands, and did the little nose laugh again. Smiled again.

“I’m thirty-two, Shepard. You don’t serve as long as I have without coming to terms with yourself. You also learn that if someone is special to you, you help them.” Sionainn’s eyebrows shot up, her heart skipping a beat. As if realizing what he’d said, Kaidan coughed into his fist, looked away from her face. “Uh… try to keep them from making mistakes.”

It was Sion’s turn to purse her lips to keep from smiling. She could feel her own cheeks warm. “Special, huh?” Special. He’d said she was special to him.

Despite his earlier awkwardness, Kaidan held her gaze, answered easily. “If I’m out of line, just say the word.”

“You’re not out of line, Kaidan,” Sion whispered, his name slipping out before she could stop herself. Her mouth was moving faster than her brain. His answer—a gentler smile, a warmer one—said more than words could. It said he meant it. She was special to him. Maybe… if she was the one Kaidan was “sweet on”... But it felt almost too good to be true. A man like him, interested in her? Swallowing her hope, she gave him one more opportunity. One more opportunity to show her he meant as a friend. “But there are regs.”

Somehow, Kaidan’s smile became even gentler. “I get you, Shepard. I don’t make a habit of complicating the chain of command.”

Oh. Oh. If he needed to clarify that he didn’t make it a habit… then…

He watched her patiently as her gears churned. Sionainn wondered what he saw. Only for a moment, though. He saw someone special to him. And so did she. Still. She had to be sure.

“You don’t… but you want to?”

Kaidan cocked his head, expression thoughtful. They sat like that almost longer than Sion could stand. Kaidan watching her with an intensity she wasn’t used to. Her trying not to show how desperate she was for confirmation that Kaidan was interested in her. In her.

Instead, he laughed. A soft sound that she would normally find cute but now could only be a source of frustration. The only comfort was his playful smile. And the way he reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “Just… think about what I said.”

Think? Hell, his tough short circuited her brain. There was no thinking. Just his warm, strong hand wrapped around hers and his steady gaze keeping her in place. For someone who could barely keep his thoughts inside his head back on the Citadel, he was doing maddeningly well now at appearing cool, calm, and smooth. Everything she wasn’t.

Think about what I said. When he said what? That there was no reason the Citadel races wouldn’t like her? She knew he meant cutting corners. Taking care of herself. Making sure she ate. Sentiments more important to her than he could ever know. But all she could think about now was that slip. No reason he wouldn’t like her. Special to him. Not a habit.

She cleared her throat, much like he had moments ago. Her face was likely redder than Wrex’s armor. Resting her other hand on top of his, she managed a small smile of her own. “This isn’t Conatix. I promise. We’ll get the job done and we’ll get it done right.”

Kaidan didn’t take his eyes off her face. He studied her again, looking for something. For a moment, she wondered if she’d gotten it right. If focussing on what he’d told her about his past over what he’d said about them was what he wanted. But then he was nodding and squeezing her hand again and she had her answer. She’d heard him. That’s what mattered.

When they finally released each others’ hands, Kaidan stretched with a deep yawn. Sion didn’t miss the way his shirt inched up to show tanned skin. She pretended to busy herself with gathering their rubbish so he wouldn’t catch her peeking.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” he started, straightening and starting to stand with her.

Sion waved him off as she snatched the remains of his snacks from in front of him. “No, no. You’ve done enough with this conversation, Lieutenant. I can handle clean up.”

She felt his eyes on her the whole walk to the recycler, the whole time she pushed the trash into it. Likely doing what she’d done before. Wondering what she meant. She’d tell him. Just not tonight. There was enough weight of the past left on that table for one night. When she turned back, he was moving not towards the sleep pods, but on a course to intercept her before her cabin doors.

Smiling, she practically bounced up to meet him. “Thank you for keeping me company. It was nice getting to talk to you away from your favorite panel on the Normandy.”

Kaidan snorted. “You don’t like the ambiance?”

“Nah. Too orange for my liking. Think you can make it blue?”

“That would require even more work, Commander.”

“Then I would just have to keep you company more, Lieutenant.”

He smiled, bit his lip. Sion tried not to stare at it. “Not the worst thing that could happen. Maybe I will try for blue.” He was still doing it. Still telling her he wanted to spend more time with her. Forget about his needing to process. She could barely comprehend it herself. Kaidan’s gaze drifted to her door, then back to her. The care in his eyes, the concern, cut off any thought about a dirty joke involving what was behind that door. “Listen. How about this: if I don’t see you at mealtimes, I’ll give you a ping. If you’re too busy, I’ll bring you something. How does that sound?”

Sion gaped at him, torn between embarrassment and affection. Between shame that she needed to be reminded, and comfort that someone cared enough to want to do it. “Alenko…”

He cut her off. “The way this is going? You’re only going to get more distracted. Busier. Lost in your work. You can’t afford to not take care of yourself.” To not cut corners on yourself, Sion filled in. “So… let me help make sure you do. As your medic.”

They had a running joke. Given Sion had no biotics, Kaidan often ended up on her ground team. A Sentinel and an Engineer. Two trained field medics. Ashley had remarked on it one day as they’d prepped to drop in the Mako. Sionainn had just shrugged. “I guess he’ll be my medic and I’ll be his. We’ll keep each other going. Right, Alenko?” He’d shook his head, but his mocking aye aye, ma’am turned out to be true. They did exactly that. Sion always slipped him protein and energy bars when he started to flag, and Kaidan consistently checked in after long runs. And they both were always right at each others’ side whenever suit feeds threw out breaches or injury warnings. They never turned their eyes away from their third squadmate, but they always made sure never to forget each other as well. Nowhere to hide when the other knew what to look for.

He was making the joke something more. He was bringing it onto the ship. And Sion was too touched to say no. He wanted to help her take care of herself. He wanted to make sure she was eating. He saw her and he didn’t want to change her. He just wanted to keep her going. And… well. Whatever else he was thinking. Special.

So she smiled. Nodded. “Sounds really nice, Lieutenant. I’d appreciate it.”

He smiled, crooked and handsome as hell. “Call me Kaidan. Since we’re friends.”

Sion felt lighter than a feather in null-g. “Okay, Kaidan.” Saying his name felt good. Right. “You can call me Sionainn, since we’re friends.” What was one more chance taken after all her good fortune?

Kaidan raised an eyebrow, and his hands. “We’ll see. I don’t want to catch flak from my CO for not addressing you appropriately, ma’am.”

“That’s true,” Sion mock mused, even though she didn’t get what she wanted. “I heard she pelts her marines with gummies.”

“And I have it on good authority she’s an excellent shot. Not sure I want to be caught in her crosshairs.”

“I respect that. I’m sure she’ll appreciate her due deference.”

“She deserves it, I assure you.” Kaidan hummed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Well. This is where I leave you, Commander. I appreciate you letting me crash your snack time.”

Sion waved him off. “You’re always welcome. Thanks again for joining me. Dismissed or whatever.”

Kaidan did her the favor of laughing. “All right. Night, Sionainn.”

He was past her and up the stairs before she’d even processed that he’d said it. She waited until the hiss of the sleeping pod door closing had faded away, leaving her with only the humming of the ship around her. Even then, she stood there even longer. Fiddling with the cuff of her shirt. Running one question through her mind.

Did that really just happen?

Not even just his reveal, but… all of it. Running into him. Him worrying she wasn’t caring for herself. Him giving her advice and support through his own experience. Him offering to make sure she didn’t miss meals. Him telling her she was special to him.

The meals especially… he had no way of knowing her hang ups on eating. Sure, he could guess. Leave it at his questioning, assume that missing meals was better for her than not. But he didn’t. Where others might have, and had, remained silent or supportive of choices she didn’t make, Kaidan sought to actually make sure that was what she meant. Fueling her, caring for her, was far more important than making sure the image of fueled and cared for was the truth.

Somehow, that meant more to her than knowing he might return her feelings. Because he returned her feelings as she was. Not as what he imagined she could be. Not as Commander Shepard, the Hero people scoffed at or thought only existed as a symbol, a woman who looked softer than the soldiers around her. Not Spectre Shepard, the unlikely standard for humanity in the galaxy at large who looked nothing close to the part, nothing like her fictional predecessors.

Kaidan thought Sionainn was special. At least, that’s what it looked like. That’s what she hoped.

Letting out a shaky breath, Sion finally turned, took the final steps into her cabin. As soon as the door closed behind her, she squealed. Giggled into her hands like a schoolgirl. She threw herself onto her bed with another laugh, gazing up at the bulkhead above her. A happy sigh escaped her.

They had a long run ahead of them. Chasing after a Spectre, taking down Geth, investigating a Matriarch, representing the best humanity had to offer. There were regs and missions and lightyears between now and when she would be able to explore anything between the two of them. But… there was something.

Kaidan Alenko thought Sionainn Shepard was special. It was more than she’d had in years. More than she thought she’d have again. And it was enough to hold onto. For now.

#mass effect #shenko #fshenko #kaidan alenko #sionainn shepard #shanfic #mefic #sionainnfic

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